Falling Farther
by shadesunrider13
Summary: "Chaos is everywhere. Fate can be changed. The destiny of the Nine Worlds depends on us." Trapped on Earth after the breaking of the Bifrost, Loki finds himself drawn into the deadly conflict between the forces of Chaos and the lone immortal who stands against them. Loki/OC AU Disregards Thor 2 and Avengers.
1. Loki

Loki:

Thor is a fool. That's all I'm thinking as I cling to Father's spear, dangling over the sucking black hole the Bifrost has become. How can he not see that I was doing the right thing? Or was he jealous because I'd almost accomplished the one thing neither he nor Father had ever managed?

"I could have done it, Father," I say, gazing up into Odin All-Father's single eye. "For you! For everyone!"

For one shining moment, I think he's going to tell me that he understands. That he knows why I tried to destroy Jotunheim and that he's proud of me for reaching for a solution to the problem. That it doesn't matter that I'm not his true son. That he loves me just as much as he loves Thor.

Slowly, ponderously, Odin shakes his head. "No, Loki."

And just like that, my heart is broken.

My fingers slip free of the spear, and I fall. The dying Bifrost catches me, spins me like a top, dashes me against pieces of metal and stars and knocks me senseless. And all the while, the black hole tugs at me, pulling me closer to oblivion. I could fight it; after all, I know all the paths between worlds, and I could easily slip away, but I don't see the point. There's no one left in all Nine Worlds who would miss me if I were gone, and I know I wouldn't miss this awful, hollow feeling inside.

As the black hole draws me in, I can see strange images, almost too beautiful to look at, in the stardust and remnants of the Rainbow Bridge. I see a shining white sword in the hand of a serene, beautiful woman; a figure - who I think is me - standing alone in an icy wasteland that looks remarkably like Jotunheim; Thor standing shoulder to shoulder with Sif, the Warriors Three, and someone whose face I can't see, but whose eyes radiate light.

Then my eyes focus on the person standing in front of me. She's not real, to be sure, because she's almost transparent in places. I'm certain I've never seen her in my life, and yet she seems to be smiling. Oddly enough, she's smiling at me.

That's the strangest thing about this whole situation. I don't think there's anyone in the Nine Worlds who would look at me and smile like that.

"Who are you?" I ask, but the black hole sucks away my words. Somehow, though, she hears me.

"No one you'd know," she says. There's a strange, humorous lilt in her voice, as though everything's a joke and she knows the punch line. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

She indicates the black hole, which is pulling me in. Somehow, my mysterious visitor seems able to resist the pull of it, while I'm being dragged backwards away from her into the singularity.

"Do I have a choice?" I ask. Right now, to me, death doesn't seem to be such a horrible thing. It sounds like safety from the rush of words in my mind, spelling out a litany of reasons why Father never loved me. It sounds like the lack of feeling, when I'd give everything to feel nothing. It sounds like peace.

The young woman looks at me directly. So far, I've only been able to see the right side of her face, but as she turns, I see that the skin around her left eye is ravaged with a massive scar. Her smile gone, her eyes focused on me, she says, "There's always a choice."

I can't tell you exactly what color her eyes are, or even what she looks like. But I do know that I'm looking at someone who isn't judging me for being born a Jotun or for trying to destroy my race or for threatening my brother's mortal love.

She extends her hand to me.

For a moment, I'm not sure what to do. But my moment of indecision costs me dearly. The pull of the black hole increases dramatically, and I'm being drawn backwards far too fast. It looks like my choice has been made for me, and now that I'm going to die for certain, I want to live. How ridiculous is that?

The visitor, though, isn't giving up. The black hole rips away at her form, leaving gaps where starlight shines through, as she leans forward, reaching out to me.

I don't hesitate this time. I throw myself forward with all the strength I've got left in me and grab blindly for her hand. My hands grasp at empty air - and then my fingers lock desperately around her wrist. There's a brief sensation of falling sideways, and then the black hole of the Bifrost is gone, and I'm looking down at a green and blue world, its surface wreathed in clouds.

I'm still holding onto the visitor's hand. When I look down at our hands, I see that my wrist is now encircled by a thin golden chain.

"You have one, too, huh?" The visitor taps her throat with her free hand, drawing my attention to a gold chain like the one on my wrist. She wears hers around her neck like a collar.

"Where am I?" I ask. The small green world looks familiar.

"That's Earth," she says. "Terra firma."

And then she laughs, her voice clear and ringing against the empty stars.

I know that this is impossible. There is no sound in space - space itself is defined as a vacuum. This visitor is not real. It's entirely possible that she's something created by my twisted psyche to comfort me as I die.

"You're not dead," the visitor says. "You're just free. For the first time in your life. It's a disconcerting feeling, no?"

She looks around at the cosmos, still rife with the wreckage of the Bifrost. "They told me I wouldn't remember any of this when I woke up. I wish that wasn't so - because this whole thing is pretty amazing."

Then she lets go of my hand to smack herself in the forehead. "What am I doing? You've got somewhere to be, and I'm standing here blabbering about the view! My apologies."

"Where am I going?"

"Down there," she says. The visitor inclines her head toward Earth.

"How am I going to get down there?" I ask.

"That's easy," the visitor says, laughter dancing in her eyes again. "I'll just give you a little push."

She puts her hands on my chest and gives me a gentle shove. I tip backward, arms pinwheeling, falling for the second time today. It's starting to be a habit, one that I intend to break as soon as possible, but I'm worried I'm going to break something else as I plummet through cloud cover toward a vast expanse of brown desert.

The fall knocks me senseless for a while, and I lay in the dust with the sun glaring down at me, trying to remember how to breathe again. I have a feeling that something important happened to me, but the memory of the event hangs irritatingly out of reach. All that I have to remind me that something out of the ordinary occurred is the feeling that I've been beaten all over with a stick and the thin gold chain around my wrist.

I sit up and examine it. There's no clasp, no pendant. It's obviously magic, but I've neither the time nor the inclination to study it further. I have to get out of the desert before the heat finishes me off. I've never dealt well with heat - but I didn't learn until recently that it's because I'm a Jotun.

I can see metal buildings shining in the sunlight, somewhere off to the west. I have a sinking feeling that I'm in the same place where I sent the Destroyer not so long ago. As I stand up and begin to walk stiffly toward the town, I wonder idly if they've repaired the damage yet. If Thor's human love will have some deep hatred of me and attempt to kill me on sight. And most important, as memories of my fall begin to return - who was the visitor?

In the city, I keep an eye out for anyone who resembles the visitor, but since I have no idea what she looks like, I don't have much luck. It's only when I've given up and I'm sitting on a bench, wondering if it's possible to find food here if you have no money to pay for it, that I see her.


	2. Terra

May 13, 2021

I was born to a destiny that did not fit me, and now is nothing more than a failed attempt by other beings to control who I am. I'd like to tell you that my freedom from that fate is entirely the result of my actions, but that would be a lie, and I don't lie. At least not here.

Today's my twenty-fifth birthday. Twenty-five years ago, at one-fifty-five in the morning, a squealing, shrimpy baby girl was born, and everybody who marked that day with love and happiness is now dead. Either that, or they hate me. But that's beside the point.

I'm not really twenty-five. Well, technically, I've been alive for twenty-five years, but my body is trapped at age nineteen. Physically, I'll always be in my late teens, and I'll never get any older. I suppose you could say that I'm immortal - which, on its own, is a pretty strange thing to be - but on top of that, I'm the Dragon Princess as well as the only Free One on Earth. And this journal is in case I die.

I can't read minds, but I'm fairly sure I know what you're thinking right now; if she's immortal, how come she's worried about dying? News flash - immortals can be killed, and I spend every waking moment in danger of that happening to me. And if I die, it means that a bunch of people who gave up their lives to keep me here a little longer will have died for nothing.

I'll explain more later, and I apologize for being sickeningly cryptic. I also apologize in advance for any alliteration-happy phrases, run-on sentences, and too many capitalized words on any given page. I used to want to be a writer, but I'm kind of out of practice.

My name is Terra. You know, Terra Nova, Terra Nullis, Terra Firma. Those are the words that used to appear on maps hundreds of years ago, right alongside the dragons and sea monsters. Terra means earth in Latin, and I'm sure that my dads were hoping I'd have some of Earth's better qualities when they named me. Strong and steady, powerful. Never to be moved.

Yeah, I wish. Instead I'm shaky, wavering, and scarred with a thousand fault lines. Even so, I try to pretend that I'm like the earth beneath my feet. Safe, fearless. Home.

I'm not good at science. It was always my worst subject in school. But there's one science thing that always stuck with me - entropy. Entropy is one of the axioms of thermodynamics, stating that order tends to disorder. Things fall apart.

In other words, you can't trust anything - not other people, not the ground you're standing on, not even the universe - to hold it together.

As of now, it's seven-fifteen, the hungry people I share this house with will be awake soon, and I'm in charge of breakfast. After they've stuffed their faces and I've filled the dishwasher, I'll go to my job at the bookstore and try in vain to trick teenage girls into reading something other than the Twilight Saga. And then I'll come back here, cook dinner, make small talk, clean up while everyone else goes to bed, stay awake all night, and do it all again tomorrow.

My life's been depressingly repetitive for the past year and a half here. Why should my birthday be any different?

Later

So I was wrong about today. Shoot me. Or rather, don't. That would put a serious squishy on an already strange day. I'll tell you about it, but it'll be in first person. See, it's a funny thing about this book I'm writing in. It's magic. So even when I'm not actively writing, it's transcribing my thoughts. Okay. Breathe in and out, and here goes with the story of what happened today.

I'm standing in the bookstore, listening to the owners, Carmen and Lisa, argue over whose turn it is to make the midday coffee run. They do this every day with surprising regularity, and I can practically recite the whole thing from memory.

"I went yesterday," Carmen says stubbornly. I know for a fact that this isn't true, because I was the one who went yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before that. Likely I'll be going again today, but for some reason, Lisa and Carmen get upset if I interrupt their argument too early.

"No you didn't," Lisa says. "You're just lazy. And honestly, would it kill you to walk a little?"

She punctuates this last with a poke at Carmen's side, which is a little bit chubby. Anyone watching them would think they hated each other, but they're fraternal twins. Twins are supposed to do this. And deep down, they love each other. They just prefer not to show it - ever.

"Guys," I say, right on cue, like I do most days. Sometimes I let the fight escalate to screaming level, but that scares the customers away. "How about this; I'll go get the coffee and you guys can stay here and watch the shop. Okay?"

"Okay," Carmen says. "I'd like a -"

"White chocolate mocha," I interrupt. "And Lisa, you want a chai latte, right?"

Lisa nods. "Thanks, Terra. You're such a good girl. And we need to find you a good man!"

"A good man?" I say, taking the money Carmen's offering me for the coffee and heading for the door. "Do such things even exist?"

Carmen and Lisa think it's a crime that, and I'm quoting directly here, "a pretty girl like you doesn't have a nice man to take care of you." As such, they've appointed themselves my personal matchmakers, and have set me up on at least ten blind dates since I started working here. Unfortunately, all of the blind dates have been with townies, and each time I've gotten bored and taken off after an hour.

Personally, I think I can take good care of myself without a man. And in my experience, men are nothing but trouble. Anyway, what man would want a girlfriend who could kick his ass, refuses to be taken for a ride, and is literally an immortal warrior princess?

I'm walking back across the street with the drinks when I feel a prickling on the back of my neck, like a hedgehog is doing somersaults up and down my spine. Ordinary humans call this feeling a sixth sense, but in immortals like me, it's far more developed. I call it my 'spider sense', because it lets me know when there are other immortals nearby.

I can't tell who it is that's giving me the shivers, although I know it's not my enemies. It's high noon, and the Guardians can't go out in the daytime without bursting into flames. Anyway, stopping in the middle of the street to see who's setting off my immortal radar would look too strange, and I walk sedately back into the bookstore and deliver the drinks to Carmen and Lisa.

Once that's done, however, I head to the window of the bookstore, and - under the pretense of rearranging the window display - scan the street. I don't see anyone I know, which is a good sign. It means that the people after me most likely haven't found me, and that I'm safe in my isolation for a little while longer. But it also brings up a more sobering question. If it's not the Guardians or one of their friends, who is it?

My eye - my right one, the left's blind - focuses in on a man sitting on a bench in the park across the street. He has a newspaper that hides the lower half of his face, but even so, I can tell that he has fine, unconventionally handsome features. And the brightest green eyes I've ever seen. He's pretending not to stare at me, but I catch him sneaking glances out of the corners of his eyes.

His clothes are strange, and the expression on his face reminds me of something, someone. Then I remember - or I think I do - and I think, _Oh shit_.

This man reminds me of Thor, the Asgardian god who was here last year. He has the same look as Thor did, as though he's been dropped upside down into a world he doesn't know, but he hides it much better. And as far as I've seen, he hasn't been hit by a car while he's been here.

On that subject, how did he get here? The Bifrost - the rainbow bridge connecting the Nine Realms - was broken after Thor left. How did this man make it through?

Just as I'm about to decide on a course of action regarding the Asgardian immortal, someone taps me on the shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin.

I straighten up slowly and turn around, only to see Darcy and Jane (two of my three housemates) behind me, carrying wrapped presents and a foully pink cake.

Allow me to explain about Darcy and Jane. Jane is a scientist, studying quantum physics and other stuff that makes my head spin - but the upshot of it is that she fell in love with Thor while he was here, and as such is trying to find a scientific way to rebuild the Bifrost. Darcy is a college kid earning extra credit for helping her out.

"I suppose there's no way I can convince you not to do this?" I say, looking at them with all the trust I would have for a puff adder.

"Not a chance, Terra," Darcy says cheerfully. "It's your birthday - we've got to celebrate!"

"I told you," I say, falling back on an excuse I've used at least twice previously. "That was a joke. I was just pulling your collective leg."

"Nice try," Jane says, "but I checked your driver's license. Happy birthday!"  
>"Dammit," I say quietly.<p>

"Cheer up, Terra," Darcy says. "You're only twenty-five once, and you're not getting any younger!"

"I'm not getting any older, either," I mutter under my breath. Then I look up, paste on a smile, and say, "You're right. So are we having a party or not?"

I open my presents, one of which contains a pair of black combat boots.

"Those are from me and Jane," Darcy says. "We noticed your pair were getting a little shabby."

I glance down at my boots. True, they've seen nearly a thousand miles of walking and running since I was given them for my seventeenth birthday eight years ago. They're patched in a couple places, and in one spot on the heel of the right one, I've patched it with duct tape. And the sole on the left boot is falling off. Yes, I do need new boots. But I'm surprised that Darcy and Jane noticed.

My other present is from Lisa and Carmen, and contains a dress made out of black leather. This I'm not so excited about, but I do my best to act it and they both believe me. It's not that the dress is hideous - except if I were to wear it, it would expose my dragon tattoo to the whole world, and I'm not having that. I'll need to come up with a good excuse.

The cake is cut, and we pass out pieces of it to any customer who asks. For some stupid reason, my eyes fall on the Asgardian sitting on the bench. Not only does he look ragged and somewhat confused, he looks hungry. I wonder if they have cake where he comes from.

I set a piece of pink cake on a plate and stick a fork in it. Then I grab a sheet of stationary and scribble a quick note, hoping two things; a), that I'm not doing something incredibly dumb by acknowledging his existence, and b) that he won't interpret my note as some sort of weird come-on.

Plate in hand, I step out of the bookstore and walk across the street to the park. As soon as the Asgardian sees me coming, he hides behind his newspaper (this is only a slight exaggeration). I force myself to keep my steps light and even, because the impulse to abandon the whole idea - or worse, dump the plate on his head and run - is quite strong. _Don't be a coward_, I tell myself. _Just give him the cake and head back to the bookstore_.

I walk past the bench, stooping only slightly to set the plate and the note down on the bench beside him, and then I'm up and walking back to the bookstore. Now I'm feeling that sort of giddy adrenaline high that comes from doing something you were nervous about and surviving it.

From the relative safety of the bookstore, I watch the Asgardian look up cautiously from his newspaper. His eyes widen slightly when he sees the cake, he smiles as he reads the note, and he folds it and tucks it in his pocket. Then he picks up the plate and devours the cake, not quite as messily as Thor would have done. Thor would have ignored the fork and just crammed the whole thing down.

I'm distracted by a family who enters the bookstore, and I attempt - once again, and rather fruitlessly - to convince the preteen daughter that _The Phantom Tollbooth _and the _Divide_ series are better than Twilight. The younger boy, however, has an interest in _Star Wars _that rivals my own as a child, and I'm able to point him toward some good novels.

Then Lisa picks up the dress, which I've left on the counter, and shakes it at me. "Put it on," she urges. "Wear this, and you will become a messenger to save the earth!"

"With fangirl power!" Carmen adds.

I think if I end up saving the earth - which is entirely possible for me - it will be with something other than fangirl power, and I'm trying to think of a good way to explain this to them when the bells on the door jangle and someone walks into the bookstore. It's the Asgardian.

"Sorry, guys," I say. "Saving the earth will have to wait - there's a customer."

I walk towards him, and as I come closer, I realize that he's fairly tall. I'd put him at maybe six foot three, and those green eyes watch my every move.

Instinctively, I bring one hand up to my left eye, brushing my fingers lightly around it to make sure that the makeup concealing my scar is in place. It is, but I'm still on my guard. I don't think this Asgardian will miss a thing, so I'm going to have to be very careful.

He holds out the plate. "I thought you might want this back. Thank you for the cake. And happy birthday."

Ah, this one has manners. Thor's way of thanking someone or expressing appreciation was to smash the plate or cup on the floor and bellow "MORE!" at the top of his lungs. And yet, Jane still fell in love with him. How stupid is that?

Then again, I can't really talk about being stupid. Look at the idiot who I fell in love with. Actually, don't. I suggest you spare your eyes.

I take the plate and balance it in the palm of one hand. "You heard that, hmm?"

"Yes," he says. "Your name is Terra, correct?"

I'm not surprised he could hear what we were saying. Most immortals have highly developed senses. Of course, if you're an immortal reading this and you don't, I think you should get that checked out.

"Yes," I say, almost unconsciously matching his more formal tones. "And yours?"

He hesitates. "I'm not sure if I should say. It might give you a bad impression."

"Try me," I say. If this Asgardian knew anything about Earth, he'd know that my name is practically guaranteed to give a bad impression. Thanks to the Guardians, I'm infamous.

"It's Loki," he says. "My name's Loki."

The name alone gives me a lot of information. Loki is, in Norse mythology, the Trickster god. The abandoned child of the Jotun king, taken in and raised by Odin as a son, brother of Thor.

"So you were the one who sent the giant robot last year," I say mildly, scooping a stray book off the floor and replacing it on its shelf.

"That was a family problem," Loki says, looking singularly embarrassed. Then, with a shocked expression on his face, "What do you mean, last year?"

"What people usually mean when they say last year," I say. "The incident with the giant robot occurred during the last rotation of the earth around the sun."

"There must be a mistake," Loki says, shaking his head. "It can't have been a year. It happened only yesterday!"

"Time works differently here," I tell him. "For us, the Bifrost was broken a year ago. Speaking of which, how did you get here with the bridge destroyed?"

"Someone pushed me," Loki says. "And I fell."

"You must have been falling for a long time," I say soberly.

Loki nods, looking sick.

I feel an unexpected surge of pity, and I do my best to flatten it. No pity allowed, because pity is close to compassion and compassion leads to friendship and friendship leads to affection and affection leads to…whoa, Terra. You're getting ahead of yourself.

"So," I say calmly, "what's your interest in me?"

"You're an immortal, aren't you?" Loki says quietly. "I didn't think there were any left on earth who were powerful."

"Powerful?" I say. I wouldn't consider myself particularly powerful, unless, of course, I've got my dragons backing me up. And I haven't called my dragons in two years. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you know?" Loki says. When I shake my head, he continues, "You're cloaking yourself so that the humans don't notice you. I'm doing the same thing. My brother wasn't when he was here, but he's an idiot, so that accounts for it. Only the most powerful immortals can keep up a glamour."

"I'm not using a glamour," I say.

Loki shrugs. "Yes, you are. I was wondering - do you know any immortals on earth who could help me get home?"

"Sorry," I say. "On multiple levels. First of all, most of the immortals here hate me, so if you're looking for an in, I'm not it. Also, there's no way the Bridge will be reconnected without a massive power source to anchor it, and the only one I know of is in the hands of the enemy. But I do know some people who are trying to fix the Bifrost with science, not magic."

The massive power source that I speak of is the Soul-Reaver sword. It's the opposite of the Mjolnir hammer, a weapon of finesse rather than force. The Soul-Reaver is the traditional weapon of the Dragon Princess, but it was stolen when my predecessor was killed - two thousand years ago - and although I know where it is and who has it, I don't have the resources to attempt to rescue the sword.

"There are people trying to rebuild the Bifrost?" Loki says.

"Yeah, my friends," I say with a shrug. "I don't think they'll get anywhere, but it's worth a try."

"Can you introduce me to them?"

"Possibly," I say. "But you'll have to be careful. Jane - she's the one who's in charge of it - had a thing going with your brother, and I don't think she'd be pleased to know you're here."

"A thing?" Loki repeats. I don't think he gets it.

"You know," I say. "Dot…dot…dot."

I cannot believe I just used the Mamma Mia euphemism for sex - even though, to my knowledge, Jane and Thor never did it - but the confused look on Loki's face clears up. "Ah."

"Do you have a place to stay?" I ask. I don't really know why I'm asking. It's partly because it makes me sad to think of him sleeping out on that park bench.

Loki shakes his head.

"Do you need one?"

"Yes," he says.

"You can stay at the house," I say. "There's a spare room, and there's food and running water. It's not much, and you'll have to put up with Radio Darcy 24/7, but other than that, it's okay."

"Will you be there?" Loki asks.

I don't know why that should matter to him, but I nod. "Yeah. I live there, too. If you just hang around here until I get off work, I'll take you there."

Loki nods, and scans the shelves for a book. Unfortunately, we happen to be standing in the middle of the teen section, and there's nothing to read. The only thing I can think of that he might enjoy reading is Shakespeare, but it's not a big seller and we only have one copy of Shakespeare's Complete Works - and it's mine. With a sigh, I pull it out of my bag and toss it at him.

"Read this," I tell him. "I think you might want to start with _Macbeth_."

I head back to the cash register, where an old fat man is questioning Carmen as to the whereabouts of the Dan Brown thrillers. She hasn't got a clue where they are, of course, and it's only once I've defused that little bomb and pointed the man in the right direction that I glance back at Loki.

The Trickster is sitting on the floor, his back against one of the bookshelves, utterly absorbed in whatever play he's reading. I can't help a smile; I think I might just get along with Loki.

After my shift ends at the bookstore, I collect Loki from his spot on the floor and start walking home. It's about four in the afternoon, and the pair of us cast long shadows as we walk down the street. Metaphorically, I could think of a lot of things to say about long shadows, but I won't subject you to that.

Once we reach the house, I introduce Loki to Jane and Darcy, and when Jane opens her mouth to protest I step on her foot. Hard. Then I show Loki the guest room, which I suppose is now his room, find him some clean clothes, and tell him which way the shower is. After I feel like I've gotten the Trickster mostly settled, I come back down the stairs, ready for the fight that's certain to follow.

Jane is flush with rage. "I cannot believe you brought him back here!"

"What did you want me to do, just leave him out in the street?" I ask. "He came to talk to me. And he needed somewhere to stay."

"It's his fault -" Jane points an accusing finger at the general area of the upstairs, nearly incoherent "- that Thor is gone!"

"Look," I say, sidestepping Jane and opening the refrigerator, "I get that you're upset. But I want you to give him a chance, okay? Both of you," I say, realizing that Darcy's in the kitchen. "I don't think he's as bad as they say."

_And even if he is_, I add to myself, _I'll be able to deal with it_.

Jane sighs. "All right, Terra."

But Darcy still has an expression of consternation on her face.

"What?" I say.

"Remember when Thor was here?" she says. "He didn't have a clue how to use the shower."

I realize what she's suggesting, and seconds later, that she's right. "Someone's going to have to show Loki."

Too late, I notice that Darcy and Jane are both looking at me. "You brought him back here," Jane says. "You have to show him how to use the shower."

"That should be a rule," Darcy says. "If it's your weird immortal dude, you're in charge of showing him how things work on earth. So let it be written -"

"So let it be done," I mutter, climbing the stairs.

First, the logistics of the shower we speak of; it's one of those shower/bathtub combination things. When I pause outside the bathroom door and hear water running, I hope that Loki's figured it out for himself. Unfortunately, luck is not with me today, and when I look inside I see Loki sitting on the edge of the bathtub, fully dressed.

I'm actually rather impressed; he's managed to turn on the water, whereas Thor spent a good half an hour hollering at the shower to "Work! I command thee!"

"Need help?" I say.

Loki looks up, doesn't seem surprised to see me, and nods. He indicates the showerhead. "The water's supposed to come from there, correct?"

"Yeah," I say. It's simple to get the water from the faucet that fills the bathtub to the showerhead - all you have to do is pull on the little spout at the top of the faucet. But once I do that, it sprays the bathtub with percussive force and Loki and I both jump at the loud sound.

I turn off the shower and say, "There you go. Dinner's in about an hour, so come down when you're done."

As I leave, shutting the door behind me, I think I hear Loki say, "Thank you."

Of course, it could just be my imagination.

Downstairs, I try to busy myself cooking dinner. All that was in the refrigerator food-wise was two pounds of ground turkey and a couple of salmon fillets I've been avoiding for three days. There's nothing I can think of that would call for a lot of ground turkey other than turkey meatloaf, so that's what I end up making.

When Loki comes down the stairs in a state of cleanliness (cleanliness is close to godliness, apparently), Darcy is dancing around the kitchen to Cee Lo Green's "Forget You" - she'd have the real version, except Jane wouldn't let her use the iTunes account to buy it - Jane is folding her laundry, and I'm attempting to shape the meatloaf into a loaf shape.

I cuss under my breath, lump the meatloaf into the correct shape, and slap it into the Pyrex pan before it can fall apart on me again.

"I see you driving round town with the boy I love," Darcy sings, "and I'm like, forget you!"

Jane chimes in with the next line. "I guess the change in my pocket wasn't enough, so I'm like, forget you, and forget him, too!"

My throat aches with holding on to the music that wants to spring free. I haven't sung in two years, even though it causes me physical pain to resist, but I'm hanging on. Calling my dragons could alert the Guardians to my presence. It's too dangerous. But I miss my dragons, and I miss singing. A lot.

"Hi," Darcy says to Loki. Jane looks up and gives him a cool nod. At least she's being somewhat civil.

Loki nods at them, but rather than staying to talk, he wanders over to the kitchen. I'm standing at the counter washing my hands off - stars, handling raw meat is the worst part of cooking - and over my shoulder, I see him peering into the oven at the cooking meatloaf. "What exactly is that?"

"You tell me," I say. I have little confidence in my cooking, and I'm more likely to screw up recipes I don't like. As you might guess, I'm not a meatloaf person. "It's supposed to be meatloaf."

"Meatloaf," Loki says, trying out the word. "What is meatloaf?"

"It's a loaf," I say, then realize that I'm about to say something really stupid. Too late to fix it, though. "Of meat."

"Great description," Darcy snickers, and then launches off into the chorus of "Forget You" again.

"Don't worry," Jane tells him. "It'll taste good. Most of the stuff Terra cooks does. That's why she's the one who cooks. Me, I can burn anything - even water."

"Should I set a place for Erik?" I ask, gathering our haphazard collection of forks and knives out of a drawer.

"Nah," Jane says. "He's not back until Friday, I told you."

I let out a sigh of relief. That's one less person I'm going to have to explain Loki to.

Dinner goes well, because for once I didn't screw up the meatloaf. Jane makes Darcy do the dishes, and at nine o'clock I'm sitting on the couch reading through all the stuff that happened today. By ten, Darcy's fast asleep, followed by Jane. Loki's the last one to head upstairs, leaving me down here alone. That's okay. I'm used to it. And I've been wanting some time alone to check out something Loki said.

Something about a glamour. I know that some immortals wear glamours to hide their true faces, but I'm not one of them. Still, Loki seemed very sure that I was using a glamour. To unravel this thing, I'll need some serious mirror time. After wiping off the makeup around my left eye - it's safe, there's no one awake - I stare at myself for a good twenty minutes before anything happens, and when something does, I almost miss it. My features flicker and melt, revealing another face beneath mine.

This new face still has my features - large hazel eyes, a small, straight nose, red lips, pale skin, dark hair - but they've been enhanced to the point where I'm almost too beautiful and frightening to look at. Even the reversed Bjarkan rune over my blind left eye looks somehow attractive.

It appears that Loki's right. Somehow, without even knowing it, I've been covering up my real features with a glam. Good thing, too, because I'd never be able to pass for normal with that face.

Now I understand why Darcy and Jane didn't have the same reaction to Loki as they did to Thor. Since Loki's wearing a glam and only other immortals can see through it, I'm the only one who can see how attractive he is.

No no no! Erase that. Damn it, ERASE IT!

So, guess what? I can't erase my own thoughts out of this book once it writes them down. I hope nobody reads this. Ever.

I'm going to sleep. I know I don't usually do that, but tonight I'm too tired to stay awake. I stretch out on the couch, and the last thing I think before I go to sleep is that, as birthdays go, this one wasn't so bad.


	3. How to Steal a Book

Author's Note and Disclaimer

I completely forgot to do this, so here it is. Sadly, I do not own any of the Marvel characters: Thor, Loki, etc, etc…

I am, however, responsible for the creation of Terra, and any characters you don't remember seeing in the movie are likely mine.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

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><p>Loki:<p>

I sneak downstairs on one of the few nights that Terra isn't awake and prowling the lower level like a caged lion. She sleeps about one out of every five nights, usually like a log. I tested this roughly a week ago by smashing a glass in the kitchen while she was asleep on the couch, and she didn't stir. That bodes well for my plan.

Terra is keeping things from me. She is the visitor, the one who rescued me from the ruins of the Bifrost - not so much rescued as talked me out of killing myself - and yet she doesn't remember seeing me at all before I walked into the bookstore. The only explanation for the gold chain on my wrist that I can't seem to get rid of is that she put it on me. I still have no idea what the chain is, and the only thing I know about it is that she wears one just like it around her neck.

Not to mention that, aside from myself, she is the single most paranoid person I've ever met. The way she acts, you'd think that people were about to spring out of the shadows and clap her in irons at any moment. Adding to that, whenever someone asks Terra an innocent question about her past, an incredibly guilty expression comes over her face, and she hesitates before answering.

As someone who has a lot of experience with things like this, I know when someone is lying, and every time someone brings up her past, Terra lies. I don't know why her life should be such a sensitive subject, but then again, I shouldn't talk. Whenever someone asks me about my past, I stonewall them.

And for another thing, there's that book that she wears around her neck. Jane, Darcy, and Erik don't seem to see anything out of the ordinary about it, but I've seen how it shrinks and grows in response to her touch. Also, based on the amount of time she spends writing in it and the sheer volume of words inside, there's no way that all of it is her writing. It's being transcribed somehow.

So my plan - both to figure out what Terra's hiding as well as why she's so paranoid - is to steal the book. I've waited almost a week for her to fall asleep, and I plan to take it, flip through the pages in search of anything of interest, and return it before she wakes up.

Terra is knotted up on the couch, curled into a ball with her knees to her chest. She has a room upstairs, but the information I've gathered from Darcy and Jane says that she never uses it. I snuck inside one day while she worked at the bookstore, searching for anything of importance, but all I discovered were a colony of dust balls living under the bed.

Terra is fast asleep, and with light fingers, I reach down and pluck the book off its chain. The book grows until it fits neatly in my hands. It's black, with a golden dragon symbol emblazoned on the cover, and I'm sure I've seen that symbol before. Perhaps it was in the Great Library in Asgard, where no one save for me ever went. They found the histories incredibly boring, and Thor never had the brain capacity to sit still for anything longer than a bedtime story. But I've seen that dragon symbol somewhere.

As I turn, creeping away with my prize in hand, a voice floats up from behind me.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," says Terra.

I freeze. One rule of sneaking around is that you always maintain that you're innocent of any wrongdoing unless your accuser has unimpeachable proof to the contrary. Also, a note for would-be thieves - make sure the person you're stealing from is asleep before you rob them. "Do what?"

Terra sounds amused as she says, "Don't read that book. I know you stole it."

"I wasn't stealing," I say, giving up the pretense that I'm not guilty. "I was borrowing."

"Generally, when someone wants to borrow something, they ask the person they're borrowing it from first," Terra says.

I turn around to face her. "May I borrow the book?"

"No."

"See?" I say, exasperated. "There's the reason I didn't ask."

"Here's the thing," Terra says, sitting up. "That book is magic, and if you read it without my express permission, it'll burn your eyes out. So I'd put it down and back away."

I stare at the book, and wonder if she's lying. But Terra seems dead serious, and so I hand the book to her. She holds it for a moment, letting it shrink down to a smaller size before hooking it back on the chain around her neck.

"So," Terra says, "now that you've woken me up with your clomping around, tell me - what's so interesting about my book?"

"I wanted to know," I say carefully, "why you lie so much."

Terra stares at me, and bursts out laughing. "Loki, you are the last person in the world who can lecture me about lying."

I can't really argue this, and if I pursue the point in a lecturing manner I will become a hypocrite - something I've spent a lot of time avoiding turning into. So instead, I rephrase, saying, "I'm not lecturing, and I'm not saying that you lie. I'm just saying that, when it comes to certain subjects, you don't tell the truth."

"I lie," Terra says agreeably. "A lot. I breathe, I lie. And I have good reason to. Do you have secrets that you won't tell anyone?"

I nod.

"So do I," Terra answers, "and I have to protect those secrets. So I lie. Sometimes, though, it's not really lying. It's just omitting parts that I'd rather other people didn't know."

"Is that why you're so paranoid?"

"Ah," Terra says with a smirk. "You noticed. Yes, I am indeed very paranoid. Why do you think that is?"

"Because you think everyone is out to get you?" I say.

Terra rolls her eyes and changes tactics. "Do you remember the first time you talked to me, in the bookstore? I told you that the other immortals on Earth hated me."

I nod again, not sure whether I should speak.

"Well, Loki, I am pleased to announce to you that you are sitting in the presence of a wanted criminal," Terra says. "The Greek and Roman families both have prices on my head."

"Dead or alive?" I ask without thinking. The minute I say it, I wish for the power to turn back time so I can snatch the question out of the air.

Terra bursts out laughing again. "Alive, of course. I'm no use to them dead. They can't use me to kill their enemies if I'm rotting in the ground."

This wasn't what I was expecting her to say. If I were to be honest - which is against my nature - I'd say that I was expecting her to be a traitor. Like me.

"If you were so important to them," I say, "how did they lose track of you?"

Terra grins, actually seeming proud of herself. "I ran away. It's been four years, and they haven't found me yet. Hiding out here was the best decision I ever made; the Guardians hate the southwest. Too much sun."

For the first time, a picture of Terra forms in my mind that does not include the thought of lies, secrets, or extreme paranoia. As she smiles, relating her flight from the Guardians and the almost insane happiness of putting one over on them, I can see the visitor again. And I start to think that maybe, Terra and the visitor are the same person.

"So, how'd you get from Asgard to Earth?" she asks. "Running away from something?"

"I don't run," I say. Say what you will about me - say that I'm deceitful, selfish, calculating, cruel. But never say that I am a coward.

"Everybody runs," Terra says with a dark look. Then she gives her head a shake and says, "What the hell. Keep your secrets, Loki. After all -" she gives a halfway smile "- I'm the last person who can lecture you about hiding things, aren't I?"

She turns over on the couch so that her back is to me, a clear dismissal. I start to walk away, but, as usual, I can't keep from trying to get at least one of my questions answered. "Why do you wear that chain around your neck?"

"It's a reminder," Terra says, still facing away from me.

"A reminder of what?"

"That you're never really out of options," she says. "Some of those options are just more distasteful than others. Now, if you'll excuse me, I haven't slept in six days and I'm a little tired."

It's only when I'm halfway up the stairs, on my way back to my room, that I realize two things. One, that Terra didn't really answer my question. And two, that the visitor is a little closer to the surface than I originally thought.


	4. Bad Moon Rising

Thank you to the people who added me to their Story Alert. I can't tell if that means you like it or if you want to be notified so that you can hide under a rock whenever I post something, but at least there's someone reading it. If you have the time or inclination, please review!

All right, enjoy Chapter 4.

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><p>Terra:<p>

Darcy, Jane, and Erik sit around the small table, each with a full glass of wine in front of them. There are three bottles - one for each person - in the middle of the table. I sit on one end of the shabby couch, as far away as possible from Loki in order to illustrate that we are most emphatically not sitting together. I'm sharpening my knives and throwing stars in preparation for tonight's patrol.

Darcy knocks back her glass, drains it, and refills it from one of the bottles. "Ah, my friends," she says, "a quart of ale is dish for a king."

"A Winter's Tale," I say out of habit. I learned a long time ago that no one cares what Shakespeare play they're spouting quotes from.

"Now you sound like Thor," Erik says to Darcy, and right on cue, Jane bursts into tears.

Loki sets down his book (still Shakespeare; I think he's reading _Hamlet_ right now) and glances at me. "Do they do this often?"

"Every full moon," I say. "They get drunk and talk about the meaning of our existence, whether or not Swiss cheese actually comes from Switzerland, and how lame their sex lives are - not necessarily in that order. Oh, and once Jane gets _really _drunk she starts pining for Thor."

"Hell hath no fury," Jane hiccups, "like a woman's scorn."

"Technically, you haven't been scorned," Darcy says helpfully. "Just ditched."

This, of course, sets Jane off into tears again. "Nice going, Darcy," I say over the wailing.

"Ah," Loki says. "And what do you do on the night of the full moon?"

"I kill demons and the like," I say. Loki, who's fought Frost and Fire Giants from other realms, nods sagely at this. "See, the full moon's kind of a party night for them, and they tend to head for the nearest town to hunt some humans. So my job is to kill them or send them packing before they can hurt anyone."

"When do you leave?"

"As soon as things get rowdy," I say. Almost as soon as I've finished speaking, there's a long, chilling howl from the murky twilight outside. "There's my cue. Gotta go."

"Hey, Terra's leaving," Jane says.

"Fair maiden, I charge thee," Erik slurs, "go forth and save the earth!"

"Yeah, save the earth," Darcy adds. "With fangirl power."

I think if I end up saving the earth, it will be with something other than fangirl power. So why does everyone keep suggesting I use the power of being a pathetic girly-girl? "Right. Thanks, guys. And good luck with the hangovers you're going to have tomorrow morning."

I head into the kitchen and start gathering my gear. Loki follows me, watching as I hook the newly sharpened throwing stars onto my belt and loop it around my waist. "When will you return?"

This question, especially from Loki, startles me. "Why, Loki, are you actually worried about me?"

"I think it's unwise for you to go out alone," Loki says, sidestepping the question with an agility I admire. "And you don't want me to come with you?"

"No offense, Loki, but you've got no experience fighting the kinds of things on Earth," I say, strapping on my knife sheathes. "I don't care how many Frost Giants you've killed, you won't be prepared to deal with a pack of hungry zombies. I'll be fine by myself. I've been patrolling alone for three years and nothing's ever happened."

"Be that as it may," Loki says, "there are only so many times one can cheat death, Terra."

"I'll be fine," I repeat. "And I'll be back around four a.m., okay?"

"All right," Loki says.

"See you later, Loki," I say, letting myself out the side door. Yes, Loki, I know all about cheating death. And I've already used up two of my chances.

Later

I limp home closer to five-thirty, dripping blood from some wicked slashes in my lower back. Around three I ran into a group of daimons - which, if you don't know, drain blood and then eat your soul - and I spent an hour dealing with them. Luckily, they're the type that explode into dust when you kill them, so at least I didn't have to worry about getting rid of the bodies. These are the kinds of things you have to think about when you go out at night to stake the undead.

But it wasn't the daimons that gave me the injuries. It was a lone werewolf I ran into on my way home. The damn thing was fast and hungry, never a good combination, and it saw me as a lovely snack. I forced it back into human form by wedging a silver throwing star into its shoulder, but it got its claws into my back and shredded my skin pretty good. It's not the first time I've been hurt on patrol, but I could have done without it happening right after I told Loki that I was fine on my own.

To be honest, it never would've happened if I'd hadn't been alone. But I'd rather spend another twelve hours out on patrol than admit it.

It's at times like this - oh, I hate myself for saying this, I really do - that I miss Adrian.

Adrian is my ex-boyfriend. My only ex-boyfriend. He's the one who donated vampire blood to me, he trained me to fight with one good eye, supported me through the whole Dragon Princess business…and then threw me to the wolves after a botched reconnaissance mission turned into a disaster.

It was simple - I was supposed to check out the demon stronghold and report back. But somehow they'd known I was coming, and they overpowered me. Then they tried to torture me into giving up information about the Guardians, and when that failed, they planned to execute me in front of their army. It was at that point that the Guardians came howling in to my rescue.

The rescue mission, at least, was successful - except for one thing. During the escape, the demon who captured me caught up. It pinned me down and blinded my left eye again (the dragons had healed it when they chose me) and when it was done with that, it carved the reversed rune Bjarkan into the skin around the eye.

Bjarkan is the rune of sight and revelation. So what do you think it means reversed?

After they rescued me, I was a wreck. But while I was recuperating in a hospital, the Guardian leadership - including my dear old mom, who I wasn't aware I was related to at the time - were looking for someone to blame. It came down to Adrian or me. And Adrian said that it was my idea to do the reconnaissance mission, and therefore my fault that I was captured and they had to save me.

That was bullshit. Adrian suggested the mission. But the Guardians swallowed it, and when I was let out of the hospital I met a full court-martial. Technically, none of them could order me around (Dragon Princess trumps Guardian) but they did a good job of it. And get this; then they said that they'd forgive me if I placed myself and the Sisterhood of Sirens at their command.

Well, I sure as hell wasn't going to do that. Instead I ran, and I've been running ever since. If you ever thought you could run so fast that you could outdistance your fate, let me tell you that it's possible. But I don't recommend it.

To reach the cave of the Fates, where their black loom hangs and they weave the destinies of all, you must walk through the Black City. The Black City is as close to hell as it gets in this universe, I think, because you face your worst fears. I only survived because I was too stubborn to give up. I wanted to look the Fates in the eye and demand to know why they'd screwed up my life.

So I made it through. And then when I got there, I found out that I could stop the Fates - or anyone - from controlling my life ever again. All I had to do was cut my thread out of their loom.

I did. Now I wear my thread tied around my neck like a collar. As soon as it was freed from the loom, it became a golden chain, like the kind you'd wear a necklace on. And every time I touch the necklace, I can see the awful fate I almost had, what I would have become if I hadn't broken free.

It doesn't make for sweet dreams, let me tell you.

As I sneak quietly in through the side door, it swings shut faster than I expect and smacks right into my injured lower back. I indulge in a quiet but intense burst of swearing and duck into the kitchen. As soon as I'm inside, I strip off my bloody shirt and, standing there in my bra with Niamh's book hanging around my neck, lay the shirt on the counter. Then I turn around, pull out a stain remover from under the sink and start spraying the shirt.

I realize that blood is dripping down my back, so I press one hand against the wounds in an effort to keep it from falling to the floor.

"Here," says someone behind me. "This might help."

I spin around and see Loki, standing there with a towel in his hand. He's probably been there the whole time. And - oh, gods above - I just took off my shirt in front of him.

"Thanks," I say, taking the towel from him and resisting the urge to cross my arms over my chest. I'm not accustomed to making casual conversation while wearing just my bra and a pair of bloodstained jeans.

I fold the towel into a pad and press it against the cuts with one hand. Then I bend down and start searching the cabinets for the first aid kit. I pull it out and set it on the counter, then look up to find Loki watching me.

"Would you cut that out?" I ask, more irritated than I would be if I were properly dressed.

"I was just looking at your tattoo," Loki says.

Too late, I remember that, in addition to being embarrassing, my current state of shirtlessness reveals my dragon tattoo to anyone watching. And it also announces to anyone who's part of the larger world exactly who I am.

"Yeah," I say, deciding to go for noncommittal. "I'm the Dragon Princess. Did I not mention that before?"

Surprisingly calm considering that he's just discovered the girl he probably thought was a fairly powerful immortal human is actually the super-powered Dragon Princess, Loki touches two fingers to his lips and holds them out to me, a traditional salute. "It's an honor to meet you, lady princess."

I turn to face him and do a mocking curtsy. "The honor is all mine, lord prince."

Loki looks visibly uncomfortable. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" I ask, now rooting through the first aid kit. "You're Odin's son, aren't you? Doesn't that make you a prince?"

"It does," Loki says, "but you're my friend. I don't want you curtsying to me."

"There you have it," I say. "And that's why you shouldn't call me lady princess. Because we're friends. And it's not a big deal."

"On the contrary," Loki says, picking a roll of gauze out of the first aid kit and handing it to me. "It is a big deal. I grew up hearing tales about the Sisterhood of the Sirens and their Princess, Niamh Snowfire."

This weirds me out more than a little, the fact that a _god_ grew up hearing stories about my order and my predecessor. "Yeah, well, they still tell stories about you on earth. So I guess we're even."

"I was never on earth," Loki says. "That was after my time."

I shrug. "I guess the stories made it here somehow."

"What's your proper title?" Loki asks me.

"Dragon Princess Terra Shadowfire," I say. "And yours?"

"Prince Loki Odinsson."

I unroll the gauze and attempt to wrap it around my waist to secure the towel against my back. Of course, since I only possess two hands, this fails, and I end up dropping the bloodstained towel on the floor.

This is irritating in more ways than one. If I weren't deep undercover, I would call my dragons and they would heal the wounds. As it is, this is a minor thing, and only if an injury would leave me seriously incapacitated for a long period of time would I call my dragons to heal me.

"Do you need help with that?" Loki asks as I pick up the bloody towel.

I weigh my options, which are few; either I could gather what shreds of pride I have left and refuse, or decide that, considering that I'm standing here in a bra and jeans, pride is a nonissue and accept his help.

I go for the second option. "Yes."

Loki takes the roll of gauze from me. "Arms out to the sides, Terra."

I hold my arms out and stand still as Loki wraps the gauze around me. It's odd to accept help from someone else - since I ran from the Guardians, I've attempted to become completely self-sufficient. This is an awkward way to give that up, especially since Loki basically has his arms wrapped around me during the whole thing.

"There you go," he says, tucking a stray piece of gauze into the wrappings.

"Thanks," I say. "I'm going to go, um, find a shirt, okay?"

Loki nods, but I think I can feel him watching me as I hunt through the laundry basket, pull out a shirt, and tug it on. My back aches and I'm tired out, like I always am after the full moon, but at the same time I'm scared to sleep. That's nothing new either, because I'd rather be exhausted than deal with the nightmares. Since I'm now living in a house with three other people - four, now that Loki's here - screaming in my sleep is more of a nuisance then it would be if I were alone, and I don't want to deprive the others of their rest.

"You look tired," Loki says to me.

"I am," I answer. I try to think of some lie about why I can't go to sleep, but I've got nothing. "But I don't need much sleep. I'll be fine. And I know Carmen and Lisa won't fire me for sleeping on the job."

Something occurs to me, and I say, "Loki, did you stay up all night?"

He nods.

"Why?"

"To make sure that you made it back," Loki says. "Stay up all night and all day if you wish, Terra, but I'm going to sleep. I'll see you later."

And the Trickster climbs back up the stairs, leaving me alone.


	5. Unexpected Visitors

Thank you to everybody who added me to Story Alert, Author Alert, and/or Favorites, and to skirose55 and C Cawthorne for reviewing! Everyone else, feel free to review. I'd like to hear what you think. Sorry about the wait (it's finals week) and here's Chapter 5.

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><p>Loki:<p>

Terra seems to be in an increasingly foul mood. Even the mortals are noticing, with Erik making some comment about a condition called "PMS".

To which Terra responds, "I'm a girl. What's your excuse?"

I can trace the start of her behavior directly back to the night of the full moon, when I inadvertently discovered that she was the Dragon Princess. At the moment, I thought she reacted rather well to the exposal of her secret, both figuratively and literally, but now I realize that she was probably just too tired to let loose with a tirade.

Even the thought of the Sisterhood of Sirens reminds me of being a child in Asgard again, and listening to my mother - or at least, the woman I thought was my mother - telling stories about them. The power to manipulate the elements always struck me as a good thing to have. After all, who would dare go against you when the very air they breathed, the very ground beneath their feet, was your ally and their enemy?

Thor, of course, hated hearing about the Sirens. "They were a bunch of girls," he complained incessantly. "What's so interesting about that?"

I, of course, would attempt to explain, fail miserably, and be reduced to wrestling with Thor over the right to choose the bedtime story. And of course, I would lose. As a result, the only times I ever got to hear my favorite stories were when I rigged some trap before the inevitable fight and tricked Thor into it.

Bizarrely enough, I actually feel nostalgic about this childhood. Despite the fact that I was made fun of because I didn't possess the brute force or the willingness to fight, despite feeling (correctly, as it turned out) that my parents loved me less than Thor, despite being the shadow to the bright sun that was my brother, I remember my childhood as a happy time.

"Hey," says Darcy, jarring me from my musings, "check it out!"

She's pointing out the window, and we all look. The weather, which has been consistently gray and cloudy for the past week, has cleared to a cloudless blue sky.

"I bet the river's nice today," she says.

Terra snorts. "Yeah, let's go swim in glacial runoff. Great way to spend the first nice day we've had in ages."

"All I know," Darcy says, ignoring Terra, "is that the sun is out, and I'm still pasty from winter. I say it's time to tan! Are you up for it, Erik?"

Erik shrugs.

Jane is reading one of the myriad scientific journals lying around. I picked one up once, bored, and found it utterly incomprehensible. "I don't know," Jane says. "We've got disturbances scheduled for tonight…"

"Yeah, but that's not until, like, midnight," Darcy says. "Come on, guys. It would be a crime to stay inside on a day like this."

Jane hesitates, then relents. "All right. Let's go."

Darcy lets out a howl of victory. Terra, on the other hand, shoots an irritated gaze at the younger girl and goes back to reading her magic book.

"Who's going?" Jane asks.

"Me," Erik says.

"Duh," Darcy says. "Me, too!"

Now all three of them are looking at me. "Uh," I say, unaccustomed to being invited to go anywhere, "I suppose I'll go."

"Good," Jane says, businesslike. "What about you, Terra?"

"No," Terra says.

"Big surprise," Darcy says. She rolls her eyes, and rotates her index finger around one ear, pointing with the other hand toward Terra. I understand this to be some kind of immature hand signal, mostly because of the reactions Jane and Erik have to it.

"Terra," Jane says, "it would do you some good to get out of the house for awhile. Maybe some fresh air would help your mood."

"What are you, my mother?" Terra says derisively, shutting her book. "I reserve the right to stay inside the house, and not get fresh air, and to wither away into a languid mess if I so desire. It's not your concern."

"It is my concern, because it's my house," Jane says, holding her ground. "And I don't want a languid mess living in my house, so you'll get up and come with us to the river if you want to stay here. End of story."

Terra says something rude under her breath - the warriors in Asgard could learn a thing or two about swearing from her - but says, "All right. Fine. I'll go. Will you leave me alone now?"

"Of course," Jane says, and heads upstairs, but Darcy isn't done yet.

"You know, Terra, you could stand to tan a little, too," she says.

"Yeah, right," Terra snaps. "I don't tan, I fry. I was born pasty white, I'll die that way, and there's not a blessed thing you can do about it."

This doesn't deter Darcy in the slightest. "I've got a bikini you could borrow…."

I don't know what a bikini is, but the mention of it just about sends Terra through the roof. "No! No bikinis!"

"What's a bikini?" I ask.

Darcy opens her mouth to answer, but before she can get one word out, Terra growls, "It's an implement of torture," and stomps off up the stairs.

The half-hour drive to the river is nothing short of torture, seeing as I'm sharing the backseat of the car with Darcy and Terra. My one piece of good luck is that it's Terra rather than Darcy in the middle seat, and so I'm spared the brunt of Darcy's singing. It's not that her voice is bad - it's just off-key.

Terra curls in on herself, as though every note causes her physical pain. I wonder idly what her voice sounds like. She's the Dragon Princess, so it's probably spectacular.

"It's really not," Terra says when I ask her. "It's worse than Darcy's, but at least I'm not completely tone-deaf."

Darcy responds to this comment by going for an extremely high note and falling miserably short. Terra's fingers twitch as though she's itching to clamp them over her ears - or around Darcy's throat. It's almost a relief when the car pulls to a stop at the river.

The river is a winding blue-green ribbon, surrounded by scrubby bushes and trees. Aside from a few lonely-looking cacti in the distance, they seem to be the only vegetation for miles. According to the mortals, the water is freezing, but I can't tell. Thanks to my Jotun heritage, I could probably dive in and not notice a thing.

Darcy and Jane sunbathe, Erik wanders away up the riverbank, and Terra climbs onto an outcropping of boulders. Mostly because I have no desire to lay out in the sun and let myself boil until I'm redder than a tomato, I follow Terra to the rocks. She lifts a massive rock and heaves it overhand into the water, clearly hoping for a big splash. Instead, the stone skips five times across the suspiciously flat surface of the river before sinking silently into the water.

Terra stares at the spreading ripples and says, "Dammit."

She sits down on the boulder, dangling her bare feet in the water, and turns her head to look at me. "Oh, it's you."

I find this odd, because I've been standing within her sightlines the whole time. But apparently, she hasn't seen me. Just like she doesn't remember saving my life. "Are you all right?"

Terra lets out a short bark of laughter. "Not really your type of question, is it, Loki?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're not like the stories they tell about you," Terra says. "You're supposed to be selfish. You aren't supposed to care about other people."

"And you're supposed to sing and be merry," I shoot back without thinking, stung by the implications of her statement. "So I guess we're both disappointed now."

There's a nasty silence, in which Terra scoops up another rock and hurls it into the stream. This time it sinks without one skip. "I'm sorry," she says after a moment. "That was uncalled for. Sometimes I don't think before I talk."

"Neither do I," I say. "Terra, I didn't -"

"Nah, you did," Terra says, waving away my attempt at an apology. "And you're right. I'm not at all what a Siren should be. I'm supposed to be personable and cheerful and singing my little head off every chance I get."

"If you don't mind me asking," I say, "why don't you?"

"Because there are people looking for me," Terra says. "And if I call the dragons, it'll set off shock waves, and anyone paying attention will know where I am. I'll only call my dragons as a last resort."

"What would count as a last resort?" I ask.

"If they'd already found me," Terra says darkly. Then she composes herself and turns to me, saying, "So, what'd you do to get kicked out of Asgard?"

"I tried to destroy Jotunheim," I say.

Terra raises her eyebrows. "That's all? What happened next?"

I sigh. "When the Bifrost was destroyed, I almost got sucked into the resulting black hole. But some sort of apparition showed up and saved my life. Then she sent me down here to Earth."

"Huh," Terra says. "An apparition? I don't think there are many people on Earth who can astral-project, and none of them can send their spirits all the way out to Asgard. I wonder who it was."

_It was you_, I think. But what I say is, "I wonder, too."

At this moment, Erik comes barreling out of the brush, red-faced and panting. "There's something out there," he wheezes, doubled over.

"Ooh, a something," Terra says, rolling her eyes. "Take a chill pill, Erik, it was probably just some sort of mutated raccoon."

Then I feel the strange prickling up and down my spine that occurs when I'm in the presence of an unknown immortal. I can tell that Terra feels it at the exact moment that I do, and her face becomes instantly grim.

"They're here," she says. She reaches up and touches the chain around her neck, and then the magic book. And I know what she's about to do.

"What if it's not them?" I say quietly.

"Who else could it be?"

I have no answer for that. Terra nods, as though I've said something, and looks up at the sky. "Stars forgive me," she says. "I had to do it."

Terra sings, a low, clear note that vibrates through the ground beneath my feet. I think there's a word hidden in the sound, but I can't make it out. And then the dragon appears.

It's majestic, awe-inspiring, and at the sight of the massive emerald beast, Darcy faints dead away. Jane screams, and Erik looks as though he's about to keel over at any second.

The dragon swings its head toward Terra, looking for orders.

"Get them," Terra orders, indicating the brush. "Bring them to me, but don't kill them. I'm very interested to know how they found us."

The dragon dips its head and taps its long bronze claws on the ground. I see little tendrils of stone rise and begin to move toward the bushes. For a silent moment, in which Jane alternates between trying to shake Darcy awake and looking at Terra with frightened eyes, nothing happens. And then…

"Son of a bitch!"

"Daughter of one, actually," Terra mutters, as the stone tendrils retract, drawing two black-clad figures out of the brush. She walks over to the closest figure and pokes it with one foot.

"Goddamnit, woman, your feet are freezing!" is the response. "What in heaven's name are you doing?"

Terra stops, and an absolutely horrified expression crosses her face. "Ember? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me," says the man. "And that's Renna over there. You really know how to roll out the welcome wagon, don't you, setting your monsters on us?"

"Oh my God," Terra mutters. Then she reaches down and yanks off the figure's hood, revealing a red-haired man who blinks in the sunlight. She walks to the other figure and does the same. The second figure is female, with long dark hair and golden eyes as bright as Heimdall's.

"See," the woman scolds Ember. "I told you it was a bad idea to sneak up on her like this?"

"I wanted to surprise her," Ember says.

"I don't like surprises," Terra says ruefully. "And now look what you've done; you've made me call my dragons, and everyone knows where I am. Thank you. So much. I am _so_ happy to see you."

"Honored Princess," the woman named Renna says, "with all due respect, the Guardians have already discovered your location. They're coming for you."

I expect Terra to have some sort of reaction to this, but she just nods brusquely and says, "Anything else?"

"Yes," says Ember, "but first, we want out of here."

Terra considers this for a moment, and turns to look at the green dragon. Its talons tap the ground again, and the stone bindings vanish into the earth. "I'm listening."

"First," says Renna, rubbing her wrists, "the Guardians know about the broken Bifrost. And they're saying it was your fault."

Now I feel a sick feeling rise in my stomach. If it's anyone's fault the Bifrost is broken, it's mine. And Terra's going to take the fall for it.

"That's insane," Terra says. "I haven't got that kind of power. The Soul-Reaver is the only weapon on Earth that could break the Bridge."

"The Soul-Reaver is your weapon," Ember reminds Terra.

"Yeah, but I don't have it, they do!" Terra starts to pace back and forth across the rocky beach, past Darcy's inert form and back again. Then she stops and stares at her friends. "You don't think it was me, do you?"

"Well, was it?" says Ember, and Renna smacks him.

"Of course not," she says, but I can tell that Terra doesn't believe a word of it.

"You've got to believe me," Terra says, almost desperately. "I didn't break the Bridge!"

"She's right," I say, and everyone stares at me. Instantly I wish that I'd kept my mouth shut, but for me that's sometimes a near impossibility.

"Terra, who is this?" Ember asks.

"That's Loki," Terra answers.

But Renna is looking at me with a strange expression on her face. "How do you know?"

"Because I was there when it happened, and it wasn't her," I say. "It was Thor."

This incites a shriek of rage from Jane, who stops trying to wake Darcy and lunges at me. I think her instant fury stems from the fact that I'm blaming Thor for the fact that she can't ever see him again. Erik grabs her and drags her backwards, hissing at her to calm down and not get involved.

"Ah," Renna says. "That makes more sense."

I haven't got a clue what she means by this, but Terra is asking another question. "Was there something else?"

"Yeah," Ember says. "Terra, the Guardians are pulling out all the stops trying to find you - literally. And they're planning to wake the Titans."

"The Titans?" Terra says, at the same time as I say, "Are they mad?"

The Titans… now there was a bedtime story that Thor approved of, even though there were Sirens in it. There were four Titans, who, while free, ravaged the Nine Worlds. It was only thanks to the combined efforts of Odin All-Father and the first Dragon Princess (who, if I remember correctly, was named Zia) that they were captured. Everyone - Frost and Fire Giants included - agreed that they should never again be loosed in the cosmos. And now the Guardians are letting them go?

"Titans?" asks Darcy, finally awake. "Like from Hercules?"

Terra spares Darcy a withering look. "Insomuch as there are four of them and they each represent an element, yes. Other than that - no. Really no." Terra turns to face Ember and Renna. "How much time do I have?"

"A week at most," Renna says. "Plenty of time for you to run -"

"No," Terra says. "I'm through running. I'll fight them here. In a week's time. In the mean time, I think you two should get as far away from here as possible. You don't want to be here when the Titans come."

"Don't you want help?" Ember says.

"Well, yeah," Terra says, "but I don't want you two to get killed either. Oh, and Renna - in the event that I die, the dragons will take their orders from you."

Renna is clearly another Siren. This shouldn't surprise me, but for some reason I thought Terra was the only one.

"Me?" Renna sputters. "You've named me your successor?"

"Mmm-hmm," Terra says. "But I don't plan to die - now or ever - so don't sweat it. Good luck, both of you, and whatever you do, don't let the Guardians catch you. I don't want to have to come racing in to save your asses."

The Dragon Princess stands up and walks off, back toward the boulders, with the green dragon following. That leaves just me, the mortals, and Renna and Ember.

"Renna, let's go," Ember urges, but Renna ignores him. She points to me.

"I want to speak with you," she says. "Let's take a walk."

Once we're out of earshot, Renna turns to me. "When the Titans arrive, you will fight beside Terra."

"What?" I say. To battle the Titans seems like suicide, and if Terra wants to kill herself, that's her problem. She doesn't need to drag me down with her.

"You heard me," Renna says.

"And why should I believe a blessed thing you say?" I ask, matching Renna sarcasm for sarcasm.

"Because I'm the only one, besides you, who knows that Terra saved your life when the Bifrost collapsed," Renna says. "And after she saved your life and handed you your freedom in one moment, I think you owe her a little help."

"My freedom?" I say, for want of anything better. How this Renna woman knows about my fall from the Rainbow Bridge and Terra's appearance to save me, I don't know, and it throws me so off-balance that all I can come up with is that half-baked question.

Renna smiles. "You don't know? It's in that chain around your wrist."

And she turns around and walks back to Ember. They both bid Terra goodbye, wish her good luck, and take off running into the undergrowth again. I stay farther away from the group, trying to puzzle out what Renna said about my freedom, but when five minutes pass and I've still got nothing, I head back to the group, where Terra is trying to explain herself to the mortals.

"So you're one of them," Jane says. "You've been lying to us all along!"

"No, I'm not really…well…maybe a little…yes," Terra admits. "I am immortal, but I'm not from Asgard or anywhere else. I was born here. On Earth. And I haven't been lying to you. I've just been…omitting certain pieces that aren't fit for general consumption."

"That's just a fancy way of saying that you've been bullshitting us," Darcy says, crossing her arms and glaring at Terra. "So what can you do? Read minds? Kill people with your thoughts?"

"No," Terra says. "All I can do is summon the elemental dragons to do my bidding."

"All you can do?" Erik says. "That's rather a lot. And now you've brought more monsters down on us."

"Look, you guys, just forget about the Titans," Terra says. "I can handle them."

"No, you can't," I say. "Not alone."

Terra shoots me a _shut up _look, and says, "The first Dragon Princess did it, and I know how. It's written in my book. When they show up, I'll just trap them again. Simple. You won't ever be in danger."

I have a feeling that recapturing the Titans will be anything but simple. According to the stories I heard, the fight between the Titans and Dragon Princess Zia Foxfire was so fierce that the twin worlds of Jotunheim and Muspell were decimated. And by the time Zia managed to contain the creatures, she was so badly injured that she nearly died on the spot.

Not to mention that Zia had the Soul-Reaver sword and Odin All-Father on her side. Terra's got nothing to back her up. Except me. No wonder Renna was so keen to force me to help.

"All right," Jane says.

"What do you mean, all right?" Terra says. "You're not going to kick me out of the house or put it on CNN that you've met three real live immortals and you know where two of them live?"

Jane laughs. "I'm not going to do that, Terra. But I don't want you lying to us any longer."

"No lying. I promise," Terra says. But as any liar can tell you, the promise of another liar is worth next to nothing. If Jane really wanted to make sure Terra told the truth, she would make her agree to no longer keep secrets. As it is, if no one asks the right questions, Terra's under no obligation to tell anyone the full story.

It frustrates me somewhat. Who is she, this once-mortal girl, to have so much that she refuses to tell? Are the secrets she keeps truly so destructive? And why doesn't she remember saving me? That question is the one that bothers me the most, I think, but not for the reasons you might think. For those few brief moments when I spoke to the visitor (I really must stop calling her that now that I know her name) I felt as though my fate mattered to someone. But now my visitor has turned out to be the Dragon Princess, marked by the Guardians, hunted now by the Titans, tortured by secrets I can't know, and that feeling is farther away than ever.


	6. Spastic Meditation

Hello, everyone. All of you who added me to various alerts and favorites, welcome aboard and thanks for reading! Also, thanks to Sheherazade's Fable and ConeycatJr for reviewing last time.

As you probably all know by now, this is my first story. Are you not supposed to thank people every chapter? Am I being pathetic? (don't answer that).

Okay, okay, enough out of me. On with the story!

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><p>Terra:<p>

I wake early the next morning, go out into the desert, and start practicing the elemental forms. The forms are meant to focus your power and help you center yourself before calling your animal, but they're also great for strengthening your muscles. While I was in New York, I worked with a knife expert to sync the forms to knife fighting, so that I can center myself and kick ass at the same time. I haven't done the forms in years, and as such, I'm horribly out of both shape and practice.

While I run through the first water form, I think about Renna and Ember's visit. Renna was the first person to become a Siren - her animal is the phoenix. Stupid of me, but I always wonder why the dragons didn't choose Renna rather than me as the Princess. Hell and heaven both know that her singing voice is miles better than mine.

I'm walking a thin line here, choosing to stand and fight alone, without a Link, someone else who can call my dragons if I'm too badly injured to sing. That's how Niamh died. And the problem is, if a Dragon Princess dies without a successor, the whole Sisterhood dies with her. I may have named Renna as my heir, but that doesn't mean the dragons will accept it or that she'll be able to command them.

I stretch and move into the next motion, but lose my balance and tip over. It's humiliating enough on its own. And when I hear laughter behind me, I know that my humiliation has only just begun.

"Bravo," Erik says, clapping.

"What are you doing?" Jane asks.

"Ooh!" says Darcy. "Are you messing with the elements right now? Is that why you went out into the desert?"

"No," I say, getting up off the ground. "I could do this stuff all day and it wouldn't help me call my dragons or control the elements. The forms are just for your state of mind. You know, like meditation."

"Spastic meditation," Loki says, seemingly out of nowhere. The reason I didn't notice him earlier is because, once again, he's parked himself right in my blind spot. If I didn't know better, I'd think he knows that I can't see him when he's there.

I stifle an annoyed sound and say, "Sure. Spastic meditation."

"Isn't that kind of an oxymoron?" Jane says.

"Maybe," I say, neglecting to remind everyone that it was Loki, and not me, who came up with it. "Now, I've got a lot more spastic meditating to do, so could you guys please leave me alone?"

Erik does; Darcy, Jane, and Loki don't. Rather than wandering back to the house like I was hoping they'd do, Darcy and Jane both start trying to copy my motions. It gives me a little bit of vindictive pleasure to note that they're so bad at it that they make me look good. But when Loki begins following along as well, I start praying to nonexistent supreme beings that Darcy and Jane aren't comparing me to the Trickster.

I never had the easy grace of movement that others possessed; while I may have appeared like I did, rest assured I was working for every step. And during the past few years I've fallen out of practice and lost whatever ground I gained. That's why people like Loki, who don't have to try at all for elegant, economical motion, really piss me off.

"All right," I announce at the end of the third air form. "I'm going to practice with my dragons now, so if you want to -"

Before I even finish my sentence, Darcy and Jane are headed back to the house. While they may be at ease with me being immortal, they aren't at all comfortable with my dragons. Loki, however, doesn't move an inch. I stand still, hoping that he'll leave, but after about a minute and a half, he says, "Are you going to work with your dragons or not?"

"I was waiting for you to leave," I say, hoping he'll get the hint.

"Ah, I get the feeling I'm not welcome," Loki says. But he still - doesn't - leave.

"You know, Loki, we have a name on earth for people who do what you're doing," I say.

"And that is?"

"A stalker," I say. "Just go away!"

It comes out harsher than I meant it to. Loki looks at me, his head tilted sideways, and says, "I can't. Your golden-eyed friend told me that I would fight beside you. And I thought if that was going to happen, I'd need to see how you fight."

"Renna?" I say, and feel a howl of frustration rising in my throat. Renna knows that I've barely gotten over Adrian (getting over; being past the miss-him-like-crazy phase and well into the I-hate-his-filthy-guts phase) and here she is, playing matchmaker again. I'd bet my good eye that the moment Loki stepped in to point out that the broken Bifrost wasn't my fault, Renna decided that we'd be a perfect couple. "She's a Watcher. She likes to mess with people's minds."

"She had a point," Loki says. He hesitates, and says, "Terra, you can't possibly think you're going to survive the Titans on your own."

"Are you suggesting that I've got delusions of grandeur?" I say. When Loki opens his mouth to speak, I say, "Never mind. Don't answer that."

"I don't think you've got delusions of grandeur," Loki says. "I just think you're pretending that this is less serious than it actually is."

"I know it's serious, Loki," I say. "The Titans were - aside from the Chaos-born - our greatest enemy in the old days. And Zia Foxfire was the most powerful Dragon Princess there ever was. People say that only the Eternal Princess could match her. But since I'm not the Eternal Princess, I'm just going to do the best I can with what I've got and try not to die in the process."

The Eternal Princess is a Siren legend. According to the story, one day there will come a Dragon Princess, and she will be the last of her kind. This new Princess, when she arrives, will rule the Sirens forever. Pretty heavy stuff, no?

"Well, in the interest of trying not to die," Loki says, "how do you prefer to fight?"

"Two knives, minimal armor," I say. "No shield."

"And no Soul-Reaver," Loki says almost wistfully.

"Yeah, no Soul-Reaver," I say. "I've got a piece of it, though. Part of the blade shattered when Ashari tried to -"

_Shut up, Terra. Shut up shut up shut up! _I order myself. I am not supposed to talk - or even let myself think - about the events in New York that led to my escape. It just makes me certifiably insane and sad, and it's not worth my time. But now that I've mentioned it, I suppose I owe it to you people reading this to explain.

Ashari is a demon - the one who blinded me and carved up my face. She's also the same demon that killed Niamh Snowfire, my predecessor, and stole the Soul-Reaver from her corpse. When I was already half-blinded and doing my best to defend myself, Ashari tried to decapitate me with the Soul-Reaver. I blocked with my knife. My ordinary knife against the most powerful weapon on Earth. Rather than harm me, its true owner, the Soul-Reaver splintered, one shining white shard breaking off the blade.

I still have that piece. Although I can't imagine what use it'll be.

Loki pretends he hasn't noticed my lapse, and continues, "I can set up some projections for you to practice on, but I need to see how you fight. Do you mind practicing with me?"

The look I give Loki is so incredulous that he probably finds it insulting, and he immediately backtracks.

"Just so I can tell the projections to go for your weaknesses," he says.

Great, my weaknesses. Of which I have many, not the least of which is a blind left eye that Loki will probably notice and exploit. "No shoes during this fight," I tell him. I'm not wearing any, preferring to go barefoot, but Loki's wearing heavy boots. "I don't want you breaking my face."

Loki tugs off his boots and faces me. "Ready?"

"I suppose so," I say, and tack a spinning kick onto the end of the sentence. If Loki weren't inhumanly fast, the kick probably would have knocked him out.

"In Asgard we're taught never to make the first move," Loki says, ducking out of the way of my kick. He attempts to grab my ankle and yank me off-balance, but I twist free and we're back where we started.

"Don't they also teach you to never use speed when brute strength will do and to flatten everything that crosses your path?" I say. I probably look strange standing here, my head tilted sideways so I can properly keep an eye on him.

"That, too," Loki says, and suddenly he's behind me, immobilizing both my arms. I curl myself in and kick out his right knee, at the same time throwing my head back as hard as I can, the back of my skull connecting with his face. He makes an _oof_ noise and his hold loosens. I get away by dropping to my knees and shoulder-rolling up to standing.

Loki's nose is bleeding. "Not bad," he says thickly, wiping at it with one hand.

"I don't think it's broken," I say. "Sorry about it, though."

"Not my nose," Loki says. "My nose is fine. I was talking about you. You aren't a bad fighter, not at all, because you don't try to muscle your way out of things. Sif could take lessons from you."

That's the first rule for female fighters - never, ever, count on your strength to get you out of a jam. Most fighters are men, and just by virtue of being male they're stronger than you are. So there's really only one thing a girl can do to make sure she wins her fights, and that's cause her opponent so much pain that he can't use his superior strength. As you might have guessed, I'm rather good at it.

The knee strike was dangerous - I could have broken Loki's leg - but it was the only thing I could think of, after drawing the line at hitting him in the groin. And the head smash is a good trick, but it only works if you and your opponent are within a few inches of each other height-wise. It's not the most admirable way to fight. There's no poetry or elegance in the motion, it's doing your best to incapacitate somebody else. Still, I'll be the first to admit that I have no compunctions about fighting dirty.

"I'm glad you approve," I say. Then, after shooting an anxious look at the blood pouring from Loki's nose, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll live," Loki says. He pinches his nose to stem the bleeding and tilts his head back.

"Don't do that," I say. "Attila the Hun died from a nosebleed. He choked on his own blood." Then, after a questioning look from Loki and the realization that I've once again said something stupid, I add, "I'll shut up now. Blame my brother - he was full of random facts."

"You have a brother?"

"Had one," I correct, giving myself a mental kicking for bringing it up. "He's dead now. We were fraternal twins."

"What happened to him?" Loki asked.

"He died," I say, with a black humor I didn't know I possessed. "And in case you're wondering, yes, it was entirely because of me."

"Do you miss him?"

"No," I say. When Loki looks shocked, I explain, "You lose the right to miss someone when it was your fault they died."

Silence, heavy and awkward, fills the space between us. I wonder idly what Loki's thinking of. Is he thinking about Thor, who wasn't his true brother? I know what I'm thinking of - the day my brother died. Other people will tell you that I'm alive because he saved my life. That's true, in a way. But I see it like this; somebody had to leave, and he went instead of me.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Terra?" Loki asks after awhile. "Even with my help, the Titans are too powerful to kill."

"Well, then, it's a good thing we're not killing them," I say. "The Titans are primeval forces - they haven't got souls like you and I. If you kill them, they'll just reform somewhere else. All we've got to do is capture them."

Loki nods, and I continue, "And really, what's the alternative? If it were you, would you just sit around here waiting for them to come pick you up? And then let them take you back and turn you into their little pet enforcer so that you can steamroller right over anything in their way? I'm not doing that. Now or ever."

Loki nods slowly. His nose has stopped bleeding and he cautiously takes his hand away from it. For one second, I'm relieved that it's all right, that his nose isn't broken, that he's going to be fine (aside from perhaps a minor black eye), and then I tell my subconscious to shut its stupid mouth. Of course, it ignores me. _If you care so much about what happens to him_, it screams, _why don't you tell him to run? Tell him to get out of here before something worse than the Titans come along!_

"You know, Loki," I say, "if you want to leave - find somewhere else to stay on Earth - I wouldn't hold it against you."

There's silence again. Then Loki says, "You're lying again, Terra."

I glare at him. "And how do you know that?"

"Because you're like me," he says simply. "And I know if our positions were reversed, I wouldn't forgive you in a million years for leaving."

For one horrible moment, I think I'm going to cry, but then I get myself back under control. "Okay," I say, proud that there's no quiver in my voice. "So we're in this together."

"Yes," Loki says. "Now, unless you feel a strong urge to go to work today, I suggest we start working on the trap for the Titans."

I nod and take Niamh's book from around my neck, flipping it to the page where some past Dragon Princess - maybe even Zia herself - diagrammed the trap and gave instructions on how to build it. And the whole time, while Loki examines the list of ingredients (only after making sure the book wouldn't burn his eyes out) and asks me questions about the process of creating it, I wonder if he knows how close he came to making me cry for the first time in three years.

See, even though I had a family who loved me and a boyfriend who wasn't a total jerk (at least not at first), nobody's ever been that honest with me.


	7. Mother Knows Best

Before we begin, I would like to announce that I have reached the tenth circle of nerd-dom. It happened like this; I was buying a Slurpee at 7-11 (Slurpees are love, just like reviews) and that was when I saw it. A reusable Slurpee cup with Loki on it. And it was calling my name. Well, not exactly...but it was watching me. I swear, it was like in those dumb romantic movies where people's eyes meet from across a crowded room. Except with me. And a Slurpee cup.

So I bought it. And now it sits on my desk and watches me.

That aside, thank you to skirose55 and Perspicuusluna for the reviews, and hello to everyone else who added me to story alert. Enjoy Chapter 7.

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><p>Loki:<p>

It's nighttime. As the sun sinks, the temperature of the desert drops like a stone until it's so cold that you can see your breath. Or so I'm told. I don't feel the cold anymore. And sometimes I'm not sure if I ever did.

The deadline Ember and Renna gave Terra for the arrival of the Titans is almost here. So, as per Earth tradition, the mortals, Terra, and I are celebrating the fact that we will quite possibly die tomorrow with a big bonfire and an Earth dessert, the name of which I can't, despite my best efforts, pronounce.

"Smoes," I try, but my mouth doesn't seem to want to frame the word correctly, and it comes out sounding like some sort of sneeze. Someone snickers.

Terra sighs. "S'mores," she corrects. "They're called s'mores. So, let us review. You toast the marshmallow according to your personal taste, and then you make a sandwich using the marshmallow, the chocolate, and the graham cracker. Then you eat it. Are you sure they don't have stuff like this in Asgard?"

"No," I say. "Roasting things over a fire was never considered regal, so I wasn't allowed to."

"That's a crime," says Terra seriously, and the mortals nod in agreement. "All right. Have a marshmallow."

I draw one out of the proffered bag, skewer it, and poke it cautiously at the fire. I take heart when it doesn't immediately burst into flames.

"Toss the marshmallows over here, would you?" Jane says, staring glumly at the blackened mess on the end of the skewer she's holding. "Mine just committed suicide."

"Bad luck," Terra says, passing the bag to Jane and returning her attention to her own skewer. The marshmallow on it has just caught fire and is slowly charring. Terra blows out the flames and proceeds to eat it.

"That's disgusting," Darcy says. "I don't understand how you can eat them like that, Terra - it's practically a charcoal briquette!"

"Marshmallows taste good burned," Terra says obstinately. "It brings out their natural flavor. Right, Loki?"

Terra raises her eyebrows and looks pointedly at the burning marshmallow on the end of the skewer I'm holding. With a muttered curse, I put out the flames and stare at it. Then, deciding that if Terra can eat it burned so can I, I eat it. And, wonder of wonders, Terra's right. It doesn't taste so bad this way.

"Right," I say, my mouth full.

Terra smiles. I've spent most of the past week with her, either planning our attack strategy on the Titans, or training, or putting together the complex trap required to render the Titans powerless. While Terra's an incredible fighter, especially considering that she's only been working at it for six or seven years, there have been a few disturbing incidents in which she's missed blocking strikes that anyone else would've seen coming from a mile away. She's clearly not doing it on purpose, but I can't isolate the cause of her temporary lapses. It worries me.

The fact that I'm concerned for Terra's welfare disturbs me to no end. I've never been the uncaring monster my enemies made me out to be, but neither do I go out of my way to worry about everyone I meet. And why should Terra be any different than Darcy, or Erik, or Jane? Certainly they're less able to defend themselves than Terra is, and they're definitely more breakable. But it's not any of them I worry about. It's only Terra.

To distract myself, I ask, "How long has this -" I wave my hand at the bonfire "- been a tradition?"

"Not long," Terra says sheepishly. "To tell the truth, I actually came up with it myself. Usually what we do here before major battles is get drunk, and that doesn't help anything. And I look at it this way - if this is going to be my last meal on earth, I want it to be something I like."

"How very wise of you, Terra," Erik comments from across the fire pit.

"Thanks," Terra says, and she salutes him with her dessert.

Darcy has been unusually quiet for most of the night, the absence of her normal mile-a-minute talking leaving silent spaces in the conversation. Now, though, she stands up and faces Terra. "I've been thinking about this for awhile," says Darcy. "All week, in fact. And I've decided; if you come back alive tomorrow, I want you to let me be a Siren."

Terra doesn't look taken aback, the way Jane and Erik and I probably do. She stands up so that she and Darcy are eye to eye and says, "This isn't a game, Darcy. Once you're a Siren, you're one of us for life and death. It's as close to forever as it gets."

"I know," Darcy says.

"If you become one of us," Terra continues, "you'll be bound in blood to me and all the other Sirens. And if I die, you'll die, too."

"I know," Darcy says again. "See, that's why I'm not asking to become a Siren tonight."

Terra smirks at that one. Then she says, "Why do you want to be a Siren, Darcy?"

Darcy hesitates. But after a moment she says, "I want to be strong. I don't want to look at the Destroyer robot or at people from another world and be scared of them. I want to know that I can protect myself from anything the world can throw at me."

Terra thinks it over. "All right. On the condition that the Titans don't rip me to shreds tomorrow, you can become a Siren. It's not hard - all you've got to do is recite the oath and then sing something. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah," Darcy says, beaming. "Thanks, Terra."

"Don't thank me," Terra mutters. "It's not a gift I'm giving you."

For the rest of the bonfire, Terra remains quiet, but Darcy makes up for all of Terra's silence with an almost never-ending stream of words. Most of Darcy's words follow the same vein; trying to guess what her elemental animal will be.

"It'll be a butterfly," Terra says in an undertone as Darcy discusses the merits of horses versus wolves.

"How do you know?"

"I just do," Terra says. "She'll be a butterfly. I hope she won't be too disappointed."

A question occurs to me. "What was it like when the dragons chose you, Terra?"

Terra laughs. "Funny you should mention that. Up until they appeared, I didn't know that anything out of the ordinary was going on. And then I saw them, and I kind of thought, "Okay, this is weird." But I wasn't scared."

I wonder what it must have been like for the people who witnessed the dragons' choice. Likely it was awe-inspiring. It's certainly incredible enough just to watch Terra call her dragons, and I've only seen it happen once. I have a feeling that if Thor were faced with the real live Dragon Princess, he'd be less disrespectful about the Sirens.

The night goes on until only a few glowing embers remain of the bonfire, and I've eaten enough marshmallows to feel slightly ill. The mortals seem to be feeling even sicker than I am, and they're sitting around, holding their distended stomachs and groaning at intervals.

Terra snickers. "Happens every time…go inside, you guys. I'll keep an eye on the fire until it's burned out."

The mortals stagger back inside with no further comment, but I stay outside a little longer. Something's not right, and although I can't tell what it is, I sense that leaving Terra out here alone is a mistake.

Before I can say anything, though, Terra makes a shooing motion at me with one hand. "Seriously, Loki. Go get some sleep. You'll need to be wide awake if you're going to survive tomorrow."

_So will you_, I think, but Terra's clearly not going to listen to me. I turn around and head back inside the house.

It's only about ten minutes later when I identify the feeling of foreboding that's taken over me. It's my immortal radar going off, only with much more subtlety than it ordinarily does. No immortal can cloak their true identity from one of their fellows, save one group. Death gods. Is one of them here?

I race to the window, hoping to call Terra inside before it reaches her, but too late. I can see her, silhouetted against the dying fire. And there's another person with her. I squint, trying to make out the new immortal's features; then my jaw drops, and I just stare.

This new immortal is female, with long, flowing black hair and stark, beautiful features. She is tall, with pale white skin and full blood-red lips. But it's not her beauty that draws my eyes. It's how much she looks like Terra. I don't know anything about Terra's family, aside from the fact that she has a dead twin brother. She's never mentioned her parents, and I assumed they, too, were dead.

Terra looks over at the immortal, and says, "I thought you might show up, Lethe."

Lethe? Her name is familiar to me - she's one of the four river gods who guard the underworld. Acheron, Styx, Phlegethon, and Lethe. Sorrow, hate, rage, and oblivion. Lethe is the only female, and if you drink the water from her river, it will wipe away all the memories of your life. What brings the Lady of Loss to Terra?

"Terra," Lethe says, "the Titans are coming for you."

"I'm aware of that, thanks," Terra says. She straightens up and faces Lethe directly, and I duck down behind the windowsill so that she doesn't see me. "What a pity - you came all this way to tell me something I already know."

"There is still time," Lethe says. She extends a hand to Terra, reaching out across the space between them. "Return to New York with me. Everyone misses you. Adrian will be so happy to see you -"

"Adrian can go die in a hole," Terra says with a terrible finality. I don't know who Adrian is, but my best guess is that he is Terra's ex-boyfriend. The idea of Terra having a boyfriend makes me distinctly uneasy. Some might even call the feeling jealousy. "Actually, I might see to it that he does once I'm done with the monsters you so casually set free. In case I haven't made it perfectly clear to each and every one of you, I'm never going back. I'm finished with the Guardians."

"You were happy there," Lethe says. "Weren't you?"

There's a note of simmering anger in Terra's voice. "I was happy only because I was ignorant! How could you expect me to return? You know what I'll become if I go!"

"But you will have that happiness to remember and cherish," Lethe says sadly. "At least you'll have had that before you turn."

Terra snorts. "I think you've been taking too many drinks out of your own river, Lethe. What do you think I did this for?"

Terra raises one hand and taps her throat. I've noticed her do that before, and she's always touching the golden chain. It's a nervous habit, and I've picked it up as well - even now I'm fingering the chain around my wrist as I try to think this through. Both Terra and Lethe are being annoyingly vague about it all, but I understand their argument as this; Lethe wants Terra to return to New York, despite a certainty that something bad will happen to Terra if she does. And Terra is refusing to go.

"That was foolish of you," Lethe says, and in the faint firelight I can see Terra's cheeks flush red. "None of us can rise above our fate. Not even you. But it isn't too late to put things to rights. It's for the best."

Terra laughs coldly. "Oh, you can't be serious, Lethe. You are not trying to pull the 'mother knows best' thing on me."

"I'm your mother," Lethe says. "It's my job. This is what a good mother would do."

Lethe is Terra's mother? Well, that explains their similar features at least. And it also presents a reason for the river goddess to be here. Suddenly, I can understand why Terra is so cagey when it comes to her past, and especially her family history. Like being a Jotun, being half-death god instantly gives a bad impression, and people make assumptions about you that you can't ever undo.

Terra laughs again, but this time the sound is bitter and painful, as though she's got glass shards in her throat. "Keep telling yourself that, Lethe. But you don't get to call yourself a good mother when you look at your one surviving kid and wish you had the other one instead."

Lethe is silent for a moment. "Be that as it may, Terra -"

"See, you don't even deny it!" Terra interrupts. "You don't even try to hide the fact that you preferred Michael over me!"

"Be that as it may," Lethe continues, "I am still your mother. As such, I am responsible for you. That is why I am doing this."

Lethe reaches into a pocket and produces a small, clear vial. It's full of something - not traditional water, but a viscous, silvery substance. I've seen it once before, on the day when Odin All-Father took Thor and I to the edge of the underworld. It's water from Lethe's river, so powerful that it can render your mind as blank as a newborn baby's.

I can only think of one reason why Lethe would have brought the vial with her; because she plans to force Terra to drink it, removing Terra's memories, and by extension, her free will.

Terra seems to reach this conclusion at the same time as I do. "Don't you dare," she says, taking a step back from her mother.

Whether or not Lethe would have dared, I'll never know, because I stand up, dart out the back door, and plant myself firmly between them. For one moment, mother and daughter are exactly alike, their mouths hanging open in shock at my sudden appearance. Terra covers it fast, though, and in an instant her expression is blank and calm.

Lethe snarls at me, showing pointed canine teeth. Does Terra have them? If she does, I've never noticed; she smiles so rarely. I can see why Lethe is upset. While she may have been able to overpower Terra, she won't stand a chance against both Terra and I.

"Listen to me, _mother_," Terra says, her mouth twisting around the word, "I've made my mistakes, but this isn't one of them. And I don't want you or anyone else changing my mind or manipulating me. If you weren't family, I'd kill you here and now, but I'll extend you a courtesy I never received from the Guardians; the chance to run."

Lethe doesn't hesitate; like her daughter, she seems gifted with an incredible ability to think on the fly. Her form wavers and shifts like one of the heat hazes so common in the deserts, and then she vanishes. Presumably, she's taking one of the secret paths between worlds. The death gods don't need such paltry devices as the Bifrost to travel through the cosmos. But for those like me, those ways are shut.

Terra stares at the spot where Lethe stood. "Thanks."

"That was your mother?" I say.

"Isn't she just lovely?" Terra says sarcastically. "And don't play dumb, Loki, I know you were listening the whole time. Now you know where my glamour comes from, don't you? She's the one who gave it to me."

I'm not sure what to say at this point. When I discovered my true heritage, all I wanted was to be alone, but Terra appears to have been sitting on this knowledge for some time. And I worry that leaving would look as though I'm disgusted by her family background. So I stay beside her, silent, until she speaks.

"Loki, if I die tomorrow, there's something I want you to do for me," she says.

"Anything," I say, uncomfortable with the topic. Terra rarely speaks of death - in fact, everything about her carries the aspect of a consummate survivor.

"Okay," Terra says. She hunts in her jacket pocket and pulls out a pen and a crumpled piece of paper. Sitting down, she spreads the paper out on her knee and begins to draw a rough map. "There's this underground ocean on earth. Some bright spark called it the Waterless Sea, but that's a stupid name. Anyway, if I die, I want you to carry my body down to the underground ocean. There are boats there. Bring a candle with you. Put my body in the boat, on my back, and put the candle in my hands. Then light it and push the boat out onto the water. Will you do that for me?"

"Is it some kind of tradition?"

"Yeah," Terra says, nodding. "It's an old saying - air and fire will free our souls, but earth and water will keep our ashes."

"Ah," I say. "Very wise."

"It's a stupid saying," Terra says, and I suspect she's saying it just to contradict me. She holds out the map. "Will you do it or not?"

"I will," I say, taking it.

"Thanks," Terra says. "And if I die, you won't be the only one there. People will bring the bodies of the other Sirens down." She picks up a skewer that someone left on the ground and prods the embers of the fire. "They say that the Waterless Sea was lit for days after Niamh died."

I can imagine it perfectly. A long, low underground cavern, half-filled with water, illuminated by thousands of candles held in the hands of dead Sirens. I wonder who carried them to the Waterless Sea - friends, siblings, parents, lovers? And I think how sad it is that the only person the Dragon Princess trusts to bring her body down to the underground ocean is me.

"Like I said earlier," Terra says, looking at me. "You should get some sleep. I don't want you dying on me tomorrow."

"Good night, Terra," I say, heading back inside and up the stairs to my room.

When I fall asleep, I collapse straight into a dream. That in itself is odd, seeing as I've nearly mastered the art of sleeping like a comatose log. But I don't wake myself up. The novelty of dreaming is a little too hard to resist.

I'm standing on the pebbly shore of a vast ocean, but when I look up, all I see is a heavy roof of gray stone. Off to my left, there's a pile of boats, and trailing down a path to the beach is a procession of black-clad figures. Each figure carries something in their arms - a body.

_It's what Terra told me about_, I think, having already forgotten that this is a dream. _All the dead Sirens, being carried down to the Waterless Sea_.

The black figures don't even spare me a glance when they reach the beach. Instead they pull the boats free of the pile, tenderly lay the dead bodies they carry into them, and set a candle carefully in each corpse's hands. Then they light the candle and push the boat into the ocean.

This happens many times, until thousands of twinkling lights float upon the Waterless Sea. But one figure, stooped and hunched with grief, lags behind the others. The corpse in its arms has dark hair, but the face is obscured from my vision. Slowly, laboriously, the last figure tows a boat from the pile and drags it to the water's edge. As though it's tucking a child into bed, it lays the body in the boat. All the other black-clad figures bow to the body, and I decide that it must be the old Dragon Princess. Niamh Snowfire.

But that doesn't fit. Niamh was an albino - her skin and hair were white as snow. That's where she received her name. This Siren is dark-haired. Who is it?

Something is wrong with this, I know. But I don't realize what it is until the light from the newly lit candle in the dead Siren's hands catches the gold chain around her neck. And I understand, in that strange fashion that occurs when you're dreaming, that this body isn't Niamh - it's Terra.

Suddenly I'm running, sprinting across the beach to the water's edge, as though if I can stop the boat from sailing, it won't be Terra's body lying inside it. As though if I can catch up, Terra won't be dead. But I'm too late, and by the time the waves lap against my boots, the boat is already floating across the water.

That doesn't stop me. I wade into the water after her, even though it's pointless. So I stand up to my waist in the Waterless Sea (she hated that name, she told me) watching the boat bearing Terra's body float farther from me, the light in her hands becoming a faint speck, and then disappearing entirely. And for the first time since my father told me that I wasn't his child, I feel tears running down my face.

"Ah!" I jerk awake, one hand still stretched out, reaching for the boat bearing the Dragon Princess away. I let my hand fall as I realize that it was only a dream, but bring it back up again to wipe at my face. The tears, at least, were real. I am not a crier, and this makes roughly the second time in my life that I've actually shed tears. But why shed them over a dream?

For some reason, I feel a compulsion to make sure that Terra is still here as well, and that's why I get out of bed and head down the stairs. It's still very dark outside, but even so, I find Terra at the kitchen counter. There's a lit candle in front of her - the sight of it makes me shiver - and she's burning a piece of paper with a rough drawing of an iron door.

"Nightmares?" she says without looking up.

"Yes," I say. Can she see the tear streaks on my face? As a precaution against this, I swipe my hand across my eyes a second time.

"Happens to me a lot when I know I'm going to fight," Terra says. She shoves a piece of paper across the counter to me, and flicks a pen after it. "This might help. It's an old superstition, but it makes me feel better. Apparently, if you write down something that you're afraid will happen and then burn it, you're also burning the possibility of that thing occurring."

I lift the pen, wondering what to write. I assume you only get one chance at this, and so I want to make sure that the thing I burn is the thing I fear the most. Lots of things pop into my head as I think about my fears; death, dismemberment, torture. But all these include only me, and I can't get that dream out of my head.

When I watched Terra's death ship sail away from me, I felt an emptiness that was worse than what I'd felt as I fell from the Bifrost. Had a black hole appeared in my dream, I'd have tossed myself into it. And Terra wouldn't have been there to pull me back.

This feeling - I don't like it much. The idea that another person's death, even dreamt, can leave such a gaping wound inside me doesn't sit well in my self-centric universe. But I'll do anything to prevent myself from feeling that emptiness again, and that's why I write down a bizarre fear, a desperate plea to the Fates to prevent me from feeling such pain.

_I don't want Terra to die_.

I scoop up the piece of paper and feed it into the flames. It chars until only the word _die_ is visible before collapsing into ashes.

"Feel better?" Terra asks.

I do, but it's not because I set a piece of paper on fire. It's because Terra, alive and well, is sitting across from me. The Waterless Sea won't have her. Not yet, and not if I've got anything to do with it.

"Yes," I say.


	8. Second Law

Sorry about the wait, everyone. Thanks to Blue Liquorice and Bookworm for reviewing, and welcome aboard to the people who added me to various favorites and alerts. Read on, and reviews, as always, are appreciated.

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><p>Terra:<p>

I don't sleep at all. Between Lethe's surprise visit and Loki's bizarre intervention, not to mention the fact that today's the day the Titans are coming, and adding that by the time Loki passes out on the couch it's already three a.m., I don't see the point. So instead I stay up. I climb up onto the roof around four-thirty to watch the sun rise, and wonder if it's the last sunrise I'm ever going to see.

Lethe certainly thinks it will be; otherwise she never would have shown up here. It's no secret to either of us that out of her two children, she preferred my brother Michael. And although I hate it, I can't blame her. Michael was the perfect child, the handsome one, the smart one, the kind one. He was the one who everyone said would go on to do great things in the world. That they were right about. Michael, my brother, who could see the future, did do a great thing. He saved me.

Lethe's never going to forgive me for not dying like I was supposed to. I can practically hear it on an endless loop in her head whenever she lays eyes on me. _Why didn't Michael live instead of her?_

I take a deep breath of morning air, and wipe my mind clean. I try not to think about how last night, my mother attempted to force me into forgetting my whole life. I ignore the way Loki intervened on my behalf, when I was expecting him to just sit there and watch me fight to the death or have my mind wiped. If I go into battle thinking too hard, I'll fail.

I head down to my room, which I've never actually slept in, but is a convenient place to store my stuff. Pushed way back under the bed and hidden under a pile of dust balls, is my backpack. It contains all my weapons, face paint, armor…all the trappings of a Dragon Princess. I drag it out, and sneeze explosively when I accidentally inhale some of the dust bunnies.

If any of you have been wondering what to wear when you're going to fight to the death, I'll tell you what I wear. It may not be fashionable, but it keeps me alive.

I tug on a black jumpsuit. Black because I like black, and very tight. For the record, it's not tight because I want my enemies to faint from how awesome my body is (not that it's awesome in the slightest) it's tight because loose clothing is a hazard. Loose clothing can snag on something, it can be grabbed and used as a handle - not to mention that if it rips it can cause nasty clothing malfunctions in the middle of battle.

Don't laugh. I've seen it happen.

Anyway, after the jumpsuit I add my lucky t-shirt and my combat boots. I think about wearing the new ones Darcy and Jane gave me for my birthday, but then I switch them out for the old pair. That pair has seen me through eight years and thousands of fights. Then I start in on the face paint. Face paint is traditional for Sirens. We always wear it going into battle, and there are whole hierarchies based on design and color. I prefer just to wear the simplest style.

I outline my eyes in black and write runes of protection on my forehead and throat. I trace a third one onto the place where my collarbones join, because I've broken my collarbones at least five times as a result of my inability to see strikes coming straight down the center. With all my attention and my one good eye watching the sides, I always miss the center strikes. Luckily for me, few people ever go for them because they're so obvious.

Finally, I paint a thick black line down the center of my lips. The lip line is meant to represent remembrance, so that even in the midst of battle you remember that you're fighting for something greater. It's meant to keep you from becoming a mindless killer. I don't think I'm in danger of that, but I paint it anyway. Never hurts to be prepared.

The last thing I do is slide on my gauntlets. These were a gift from Adrian, and I'd throw them away if they weren't so useful. They're made of leather with metal studs on the knuckles, good for hitting things, and good for protecting my hands. Since I'm a knife fighter, I don't have the advantage of a sword guard, and in case a strike hits my hands, they'll be protected.

I scoop up my knives - all four of them, Loki's borrowing two - and my throwing stars, and head down the stairs.

Loki doesn't have any armor. I'd loan him mine (I never use it because it slows me down) but he stands a good four inches taller than my height of five foot nine, and it wouldn't fit. This worries me a little more than I'd like, but I tell myself I've got nothing to panic about. If I do my job correctly, Loki won't end up in a position where he needs armor.

He's already awake when I come down the stairs. "Terra," he says, nodding at me.

I toss two sheathed knives and a belt already strung with throwing stars at him. Loki catches them without batting an eye, and wastes no time in pulling the knives from their sheathes to check that they're sharp. Satisfied, he nods, slides the knives back into their sheathes and says, "Do you have the prisons?"

"Here," I say. I open a cabinet underneath the sink where none of my housemates ever go, and pull out six small globes. They look like pearls, but trust me, they're not.

The function of the prisons is to drag the Titans' essence out of their mortal hosts and keep it trapped. All Loki and I have to do is bring the globes into contact with the Titans' skin, and the magic surrounding them will do the rest. The problem being, of course, that getting the globes onto the Titans' skin is easier said than done.

I examine one of the globes, holding it up to the light. "Who'd have thought that these things took so much work?"

Only about one day out of the past week was devoted to training; the rest was spent trying to build the prisons. I hate to admit it, but I never would have managed without Loki's help. I lack the patience necessary to create magical objects of such power. Even so, thanks to my impatience and propensity for missing entire lines of the directions (a hazard of reading half-blind) Loki and I only managed to create six globes. Three for each of us, if we divide them evenly. Meaning that we have a margin of one miss each - anything more, and we might as well just kill ourselves. It'll be easier than what waits for us back in New York.

"Ready to go?" I ask Loki, passing him four of the six globes. The plan is for Loki to do most of the actual capturing. My job is to keep the elemental powers of the Titans from shredding him to pieces.

Loki nods. "How do you plan to get there?"

"Flying, of course," I say, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. To me it is, but by the expression on Loki's face, the idea of flying into battle never occurred to him. "You don't get airsick, do you?"

"I don't know," Loki says. "I've never flown."

"Well," I say, shrugging, "this is the perfect time to try it."

We head out into the desert, which is still hanging on to some of last night's cold. When we're far enough away from the house, I sing the high, clear note I use to call the air dragon, with the dragon's true name folded carefully into the sound. That's all it takes for the air dragon, who's been waiting for me to call since I first spoke the earth dragon's name a week ago, to burst into the physical plain.

The air dragon, long and pearly-white, lets out a happy hum and pokes its snout against my side. Its head is bigger than my whole body, and as a result, what was probably meant to be a playful nudge just about knocks me over.

"I know, I know," I say, scratching the air dragon underneath the chin. It purrs like a giant cat. "I'm sorry."

The air dragon is too thrilled by the fact that I've finally called for it to be upset by the other, not-so-pleasant fact that I haven't sung, haven't spoken, haven't breathed a word to it for years. Air is the most playful of the elements, but don't make the mistake of thinking that the air dragon is a pushover. People who make that mistake tend to end up dead.

After giving me a thorough sniffing to make sure I'm all right, the air dragon turns its attention to Loki. It sniffs at him as well, then pokes him with its head. Loki stands perfectly still, his eyes squeezed shut, as though pretending that there's no massive dragon examining him intently from all angles will make it true.

The air dragon lets out its chuffing laugh and turns its head to look at me. While I can't make out exactly what it's saying, there's no mistaking its intentions. Damn it, the air dragon is almost as bad as Renna (not to mention Lisa and Carmen) when it comes to playing matchmaker.

"No," I tell it firmly. "Come on. We're going to fight, and we need a ride."

The air dragon extends one leg to use as a ramp, but I just plant one hand on its knee and vault onto its back. Loki follows more cautiously and settles in behind me.

"Hang on," I order.

"To what?" Loki asks. He's looking around as though he expects the dragon to come equipped with seatbelts or perhaps a convenient handhold.

"To me," I say, realizing how awkward this is and trying to get it over with as fast as possible. "Otherwise you'll slide right off as soon as we hit cruising speed."

Cruising speed on the dragon is a good bit faster than cruising speed on an airplane, but I don't need to explain that to Loki. The minute he hears the words "slide right off" he wraps his arms securely around my waist. When I'm sure that Loki is holding on good and tight, I tap the air dragon's side. "Let's go."

With an almighty lurch, the air dragon hurls itself skyward. Loki's grip on me intensifies about tenfold as the ground falls away beneath us. The dragon rises; ten feet, twenty, thirty, forty…I've been told that not everyone enjoys the sensation of flying as much as I do, but it's one of my favorite things. Odd, especially considering I'm named for the earth.

"How long until we reach the Titans?" Loki says into my ear.

"Ten minutes, maybe," I say. Last night, when I sent the earth dragon to scout their positions it placed them about two hundred miles out from the town, in the empty desert. "It won't be long."

The wind blasts against my face, bringing tears to my eyes, and for the first time I feel a twinge of apprehension. For the past week I've been acting like believing that I'll survive will make it so. But now I'm not so sure. What if, despite my best efforts otherwise, I die today? At the very least, it'll render my brother's sacrifice useless, prove Lethe right, and land Loki in a whole new world of trouble. Not to mention that without me, the war against Chaos is doomed to fail.

"Terra," Loki murmurs, so quietly that for a second I think it's my imagination. "I see them."

I look down at the speeding desert below and make out four figures. It appears that the Titans have taken human form in order to travel inconspicuously. Four targets, two male, two female. Air and water are the women, earth and fire, the men. I take a closer look and realize Loki and I are going to have to act fast. The primeval power of the Titans is already warping the bodies of their unfortunate human hosts.

"Which one should I capture first?" Loki asks.

"Air," I decide. Before Loki can come up with the inevitable questions about my reasoning, I say, "Look, I know that fire or water can cause more damage, but I'm not going to last long if I have to fight the air Titan for every breath you take. Okay?"

"Your call," Loki says.

The air dragon begins to descend. The Titans don't even notice; they're so intent on pursuing their target - me - that they pay no attention to the impending attack.

"The air dragon's going to flip in about five seconds," I tell Loki as we come close to the ground. "When it does, jump off and go straight for the air Titan. I'll handle the rest. Okay?"

"Okay," Loki says. "Good luck."

"Right back at you," I say. "Three - two - one!"

The air dragon rolls sideways, turning my whole world upside down. I feel Loki's arms unlock from around my waist as he drops, but I don't see where he lands - or even if he lands - because the air dragon spirals up and away, taking me back into the sky.

I sing three notes, one after another, and my three remaining dragons wink into existence. The air dragon goes into a screaming dive and lands hard, its claws skittering across the sand. I leap off its back and start shouting mental commands at all four dragons, searching the desert for a sign of Loki.

At last I see him, smashing one of the globes against the air Titan's back. The pearly sphere splits, and silver matter begins to drain from the Titan into it. There's one unearthly howl, and then the mortal host collapses unconscious to the ground. I'm relieved to see that the Titan's Chaos has had no permanent effect on the human. In Loki's hand is the imprisoned essence of the air Titan.

The other Titans don't take kindly to this, and with uniform snarls, they all turn on Loki. A spear of rock shoots up from the ground beneath his feet, meant to skewer him straight through, but I imagine the earth dragon stepping down, crushing the stone and forcing it back into the earth. As a result, the stone spire never rises more than an inch off the ground.

It's hard work, trying to counter every attack the Titans make against Loki, and sweat pours down my forehead, stinging my eyes and sending streaks of black face paint running down my cheeks. Although I block the majority of the strikes, there are several I miss; the sphere of fire that lands at Loki's feet and explodes, searing his skin. The icy sword in the hands of the water Titan that slices across his back. The boulder that rises from the ground and smashes against his chest.

Even though he's got multiple wounds, Loki evades their strikes with a speed I envy. I, on the other hand, am locked in mental combat with the earth Titan, which is doing its level best to kill him. Just when I think I'm about to give out under a punishing series of stone spears, Loki presses the second sphere against the earth Titan's forehead.

I let out a war whoop as the earth Titan's power drains into the globe, but this proves to be a mistake. The water and fire Titans turn and spot me. While the fire Titan remains focused on Loki, the icy water Titan starts for me, claws breaking through the fingertips of its mortal host.

It occurs to me that the Titans aren't all that bright. Any normal being would have figured out a whole lot earlier that it was I and not Loki who needed to be killed first, but I've only just come to their attention. As the water Titan lunges, I send a order out to the dragons - _protect Loki _- and prepare to fight.

Rather than drawing both my knives, I draw one and use my other hand to hold a sphere. It looks like I'm going to have to capture at least one of the Titans myself. I turn my head to the left, so that my good right eye is focused entirely on my opponent, and I wait. In this case, I don't want to make the first move. When I was fighting Loki, at least I had a general sense of his speed and strength. The Titan is an unknown quantity.

I don't wait long. The Titan lashes out, its icy claws curved to rip open my stomach, and I twist sideways, bringing up my knife to cut at its talons. No luck with that - the ice is too strong. So instead I drop to one knee and sweep the Titan's legs out from beneath it.

It crashes to the ground, but unfortunately the majority of its weight lands on my leg, trapping me. I feel a chill creeping across my skin, and I haul myself free before it can reach my knee. I roll to my feet, but when I chance a look downward I see that my skin is an unearthly, frosty blue where the Titan's skin touched mine. It doesn't impede my movement, and it's not spreading further, so I put it out of my mind and ready myself for the next attack.

Before the Titan makes another move, I hear a mental shriek of distress from the fire dragon, who's attempting to protect Loki from a conflagration moving in on all sides. With little to burn in the desert, the fire shouldn't last, but I'm not taking any chances. I order the water dragon to douse the flames and return my attention to my opponent.

Almost immediately I hit the ground as the icy claws slash at me again, but this time I don't get back up fast enough. The water Titan, not even resorting to using its claws, brings up one foot and kicks me viciously in the side. Not only does it hurt like hell, it sets me rolling across the sand, and I stop only when I smash up against a big rock.

I can tell that I've broken maybe two ribs, and there's no time to worry. I lever myself up, using the rock as a handhold, and as the Titan charges toward me, I hurl the globe in my left hand straight at it.

The water Titan, however, is slightly smarter than the others, and has no intention of falling for that trick. It adjusts its course slightly and the sphere flies past, impacting harmlessly into the sand. I curse under my breath; now I've only got one sphere left. Add that to the fact that I'm already injured, and I don't rate my chances of escaping this encounter with only a few broken ribs.

With an inarticulate roar, the Titan is upon me, claws slashing. It opens up a cut on my cheek that starts to ooze blood, and I think, _Great. Just when I thought my face couldn't be ruined any more_.

I hear a cry from off to my left. Is it Loki? Is he hurt? I can't see him; both he and his opponent are well into my blind spot. But, stupid me - _oh so stupid, Terra, why do you do this?_ - I turn to look anyway, and in the process take my eyes off my enemy.

The water Titan doesn't hesitate a second. It balls one claw-studded, ice-covered hand into a fist and punches me right in the place where my ribs join. You know how I said that nobody ever goes for the obvious strike? I was wrong - Titans do.

I happen to be looking down at the time the punch hits, and as a result I actually see the lower half of my chest cave in beneath the strike. Then the pain signals reach my brain, and I panic. It hurts, but because of the damage to my diaphragm and lungs, I can't get enough air to scream. Or call my dragons.

That scares me most of all, I think - the knowledge that I'm going to die exactly as my predecessor did, injured and unable to call for help. Still, something odd comforts me as I watch the water Titan howl in victory and stalk closer. The fact that the last order I gave my dragons was to protect Loki, that he'll most likely survive, gives me a small measure of inner peace.

That small measure of inner peace is quickly drowned out by indignation. _Damn you, Loki, for making me worry about you so much that I got killed! _

The water Titan stops beside me, gazing down, and I hope that its primitive mind overrides the orders it was given by the Guardians. They wanted me captured and brought back alive, but the Titans and the Sirens are natural enemies. The urge to kill me must be strong. And I'd rather die than serve the Guardians. So in an effort to spur the creature into action, I stick out my tongue at it. I'd give it the finger if I could move my arms.

The creature snarls and lifts one foot, presumably to stomp down on my chest and collapse my lungs, but what looks to be a branch off one of the saguaro cacti swings out of nowhere and hits it in the head.

"Don't touch her," Loki says as the Titan staggers sideways, clutching its now spike-ridden head and howling. Then he tosses the branch aside, picks up a knife and a globe, and goes after the last remaining Titan, for if he's here, it means he's captured the other.

They disappear from my sight lines, and pretty soon so does everything else as I fall into an oxygen-starved state of semi-consciousness. I dream as I drift between sleep and waking, dream of being chained against a wall with droplets of liquid fire falling onto my face, dream of shadows and fires and the earth shaking with pain beneath my feet. After some time, I feel cool fingers brush against the side of my neck, searching for a pulse, but until I hear the voice, I think that's a dream, too.

"She's alive!" Loki says. "You've got to heal her! Damn you all, why won't you listen to me?"

_Not a dream, then_, I think, a little surprised. Loki must have captured the last Titan, and now he's trying to order around my dragons. Since I'm not dead and I'm not coming up with any new orders, they must be confused as to what they're supposed to do next.

"Terra," Loki says, and his voice is close to my ear. "They won't listen to me. Call them. If you can hear me, call your dragons and tell them to help you!"

I open my mouth and let one word slip free, borne on the slightest breath of air. It's a name, a true name, and at this point I don't really care if Loki hears it. "_Veritas_."

The true name of the earth dragon sings through the ground, and in an instant the creature is at my side, its emerald green eyes gazing into mine. I don't have the air for any more words, but it doesn't matter. Now that I have its attention, we can communicate mind to mind.

I tell it what needs to be done, and the earth dragon touches its snout to my mangled rib cage. The feeling of being healed isn't a pleasant one - imagine caterpillars crawling all over your body - but it's over quickly. I stretch my arms, sit up, turn from side to side to make sure that everything's in working order, and then I look around for Loki.

He's standing maybe ten feet away, his back to me. "You're blind," he says quietly. "In your left eye. And you didn't tell me?"

I get to my feet, wincing as I put weight on my injured leg. It's not frozen any longer, but the water Titan landed on it pretty hard. "I am," I say calmly. "It's not like I tried all that hard to hide it. And you didn't need to know."

Lie upon lie; my blind eye is probably my biggest secret, and it very nearly got us both killed today. Loki's completely within his rights to be furious that I withheld the information - but I didn't expect him to be so angry that he refuses to even look at me.

"Did you get them all?" I ask Loki, meaning the Titans.

My answer comes in the form of four prisons, now colored in elemental shades, tossed over Loki's shoulder to land in the sand between us. "I did," he says. "No thanks to you."

"Hey," I say angrily. "If it weren't for me, you'd have been killed about a thousand times over!"

"And if it weren't for me," Loki shoots back, "you'd be in New York right now with your mind wiped clean!"

That one I can't argue, but I have another response ready. "Well, it's lucky you're so self-sufficient. I probably didn't even need to take you in off the streets!"

Loki's voice is dark and cold when he next speaks. "Why not say you should have let the black hole take me and be done with it?"

"What?" I say. Now I don't have a clue what he's talking about, and he still won't look at me. "Dammit, Loki, just turn around!"

He stays right where he is, and I stalk across the sand toward him. I step carefully around the globes on the ground, grab his wrist, and spin him around to face me. And now I can see just why Loki wouldn't look me in the face.

His skin is the same frosty blue that marked my leg, but it completely covers all the skin I can see. His features are still the same, I think, but they're blurred, as though I'm seeing them through a thick sheet of ice. And his eyes are no longer green - they're blood red.

It only takes me a moment to contain my shock, but Loki still sees it. "Happy now?" he asks bitterly. "Be careful what you wish for, Terra."

I could tell Loki a thing or two about being careful what to wish for, but I've got something else on my mind. "Is this -" I wave my hand in the air, indicating the blue skin and red eyes "- is this permanent?"

"I don't know," Loki says. "The only times it's happened before was when I touched the Casket of a Thousand Winters, and it always changed back as soon as I let go. But this -"

Loki shrugs helplessly. He turns away from me and starts walking, out into the desert. Feeling ridiculous, I chase after him. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," Loki says. "The last thing you and your friends need is a Frost Giant around. Your entire existence depends on your ability to hide in plain sight, Terra - and I can't hide this." He reaches one hand up to touch his face, and shakes his head. "Goodbye, Terra."

"No -" I start to say. I'm starting to remind myself almost irresistibly of a pathetic female character from a book I really hate, and I can't stand the resemblance. So I say, "Fine, Loki. Good luck out there."

I don't want him to leave, but I have to let him. I extend my hand to shake. Loki reaches out and takes it, his blue skin a startling contrast against my pale hand. Then something very odd starts to happen; I feel cold leaching into my hand, but rather than settling in for a good long stay, it just dissipates. I look down and see that Loki's skin is turning back to its natural color.

"What the hell?" I mutter, glancing up at Loki's face. He seems just as surprised as I am. The blue is fading from his features as well, and his eyes are returning to their natural green. I'm almost afraid to let go of his hand, for fear that it'll bring the blue back.

When I do let go, though, Loki stays the same. Whatever change has occurred to return him to his normal state, it's permanent. Almost immediately, I start blabbering like an idiot. It's like my mouth is on reflex - whenever something happens, just start talking nonsense.

"It must be because of the fire dragon," I say. "The heat must cancel out the freeze when our hands touch. And then, if you follow the Second Law of Thermodynamics, heat flows from hot to cold, so rather than staying put, the heat flows to you and cancels out the freeze with you, too -"

I cut myself off, and decide that, for someone who nearly flunked Integrated Physical Science in ninth grade, I know way too much about thermodynamics.

Loki stares down at his returned-to-normal hands, then back up at me. "I suppose I don't have to leave now?"

"No, you don't," I say, purposely failing to remind him that he was the one trying to leave, and I was trying to stop him. "But it would kind of screw up that dramatic exit."

Loki laughs at that one, then winces, bringing one hand up to his chest. I remember all the attacks that slipped through my guard, and give myself a good kicking for forgetting to heal him. I beckon the dragons over; while they give me strange looks for asking them to heal someone who a couple minutes ago was yelling at them, they do it. And I swear the air dragon winks at me as it mends a series of long scratches on Loki's back.

The flight home is basically uneventful, aside from the fact that we're at least two secrets lighter than we were on the way here and that we're carrying the captured Titans along with us. I imagine Adrian's face when he realizes that I've beaten him again, Lethe's when she learns that I've survived, and laugh.

At the house, Darcy is the first one to reach us. She explodes out of the door and skids to a stop before me.

"You promised," she says. No hello, no "hey, I'm so glad you're not dead", just "you promised". Jane and Erik have followed her out, and they're watching with interest.

I nod, because I did promise, and say, "Repeat after me, Darcy: I, insert your name here, pledge myself to the Sisterhood of the Sirens and swear loyalty to my sisters, my princess, and my order, until death itself takes me."

After a minor mix-up in which Darcy forgets to insert her name and repeats the oath word for word, she manages to swear herself to the Sirens and my service.

"Now sing," I say. Darcy shuts her eyes and bursts out into a thankfully on-key rendition of a Hannah Montana song. While I disapprove of the song choice, I can't deny that she's got a good voice. Just as I expected, the butterflies appear, hovering around Darcy's face. She can't see them with her eyes shut, but when they wrap themselves around her wrist, she stops singing and lets out a shriek to wake the dead. I roll my eyes. Sure, it tingles a little when the tattoo is burned into your skin, but it's not that bad.

"Welcome to the Sisterhood, Darcy," I say, as she opens her eyes and examines the tattoo on her wrist. Jane and Erik clap for her, but Darcy looks a little disheartened.

"I'm a butterfly?" she says.

"Not just an ordinary butterfly," I say, realizing that now's the time for me to do something Princess-like to restore Darcy's self-esteem. I pick up a long piece of wood, left over from last night's bonfire, and tap her on each shoulder with it. "By the power vested in me, I dub you Darcy, the Butterfly of Death. And, uh -" I look around, spot the prisons, and have a brilliant idea "- and the guardian of the captured Titans."

I hand her the spheres. Loki stares at me, and says, "Are you sure that's wise?"

"It's fine," I say. "She'll never let the Guardians have them, and they'll never suspect that she's the one who's got them. And this way, if I get captured, the Guardians won't get the Titans back."

"I see," Loki says, "but now you've got a different problem. How on earth are you going to turn Darcy into a Siren?"

I look over at Darcy, who's attempting to juggle the prisons. She drops one on her head and lets out a shriek of pain, embedded in which are several swear words. I open my mouth to answer Loki, but a massive yawn sneaks out.

"I'm not going to worry about that right now," I say. "I'm just going to be happy that neither of us died and leave it at that."

Loki nods. "It's not over yet, is it?"

I think about the Guardians, and all the resources at their disposal. I think about my mother, and how she'll do anything to groom me into the kind of person Michael was. I think about how the Nine Worlds are weaker without the Bifrost connecting them together, and how Chaos is even now trying to sneak its way in.

"No," I say. "It's not over. But I'd say we've got a bit of a grace period between now and the next thing that comes up. So if I were you, I'd figure out what I want to see and do on Earth before everything goes to hell."

"I'm glad you didn't die," Loki says after a moment of silence.

"Ditto."

* * *

><p>I will post a new chapter as soon as my erstwhile editor gives me feedback on it. Also, writer-points to anyone who can guess which book character Terra compares herself to while she's trying to convince Loki not to leave.<p> 


	9. Concerning Romance

Hello, everyone, sorry about the long wait. I hit writer's block, and in order to keep up my two-chapters-ahead-before-I-post-anything-new mantra, I had to do some serious writing. Thanks to reviewers MugglebornPrincesa and C Cawthorne, and thanks to my erstwhile editor. Also, thanks to MugglebornPrincesa and Impish Wisdoms for the answers to last chapter's question. And Impish Wisdoms guessed correctly - it was that awful Bella Swan. But I suppose Scarlett O'Hara would have worked, too.

Enough of me blabbering. On with the story.

* * *

><p>Loki:<p>

Almost two weeks have passed since the defeat of the Titans, and things have returned to normal. Or as normal as they ever get when there are two immortals around. Jane and Erik are back to monitoring disturbances in the atmosphere, searching for signs of otherworldly activity, and Terra occasionally goes to work at the bookstore. But most of the time she and I work on getting Darcy combat-ready. It's by no means an easy task.

"Dammit, Darcy, level it out!" Terra yells as a silver butterfly screams through the sky with Darcy on its back. The creature goes into a steep dive, and Terra and I both avert our eyes from the inevitable crash.

"Isn't that, like, the fifth time today she's done that?" Terra asks, looking at me.

"Sixth," I say. We're far out from the town, close to where we fought the Titans, and there's very little shade. The heat is miserable, and I've been reduced to sitting beneath a cactus to try and get out of the sun.

Darcy picks herself up from the crash and bounds over to us. "How'd I do?"

Terra rolls her eyes heavenward, as though looking for some kind of answer. When the only thing that appears is a solitary vulture slowly winging its way across the cloudless sky, she looks back at Darcy and says, "You failed."

"Did not," Darcy says rebelliously. "I did fine!"

"You plowed yourself into the ground at ninety miles an hour!" Terra says. "I swear, it's lucky that your butterfly is immortal - otherwise, you'd have killed both it and yourself about six times by now!"

"Yeah?" Darcy explodes. "Well, it's not my fault that you're some kind of perfect supernatural warrior princess!"

"True," Terra says, "but I didn't force you to become a Siren. You wanted to be one of us. And it takes work. I'm sorry if I didn't make that abundantly clear."

"Are you calling me lazy?"

Terra pretends to deliberate. "Yeah, I think I am."

Darcy opens her mouth to scream at Terra, but Terra says calmly, "Shut up, Darcy."

Darcy's mouth opens and closes for a moment, and the expression on her face is one of utmost rage, but she can't disobey a direct order from her princess. Terra waits a little while, and says, "Did you have something to say, Darcy?"

"Did you let me be a Siren just so you could tell me to shut up and I'd have to do it?" Darcy shrieks.

"No, I didn't," Terra says indignantly. Then she smirks, and says, "But it's one of the perks. Come on, it took me awhile to figure out flying, too. Go try again."

Pausing only to make a filthy hand signal in Terra's direction, Darcy stomps off to do the bidding of her princess. Terra, for her part, walks over and flops down in the minimal shade of the cactus beside me.

"Tell me, Loki," she says, eyes shut, "why did I let Darcy become a Siren?"

"Because you had a fit of temporary insanity?" I suggest.

Terra snorts with laughter at that one, and my heart gives an odd little jump. I do my best to ignore the fibrillations and focus on something else.

Terra sighs, and picks a spine off the cactus. "She's got the potential to be a great Siren, and she tries hard. Let's face it - I'm the problem. I'm crap at teaching. I've got no compassion and even less patience."

She glances at me. "Enough about me, Loki. What about you? Are you doing all right? Sleeping well?"

"No," I say. Terra should know about things like this - I've been having nightmares almost every time I shut my eyes. "My subconscious is staging a mutiny."

"Nightmares?" Terra says. When I nod an affirmative, she sighs again. "Ah, I'm sorry, Loki. It's kind of an occupational hazard of being my friend. You hang around with me long enough, eventually you get my nightmares."

"It's all right," I say. Then, to myself, _I'd rather be here and have the nightmares than not be here with you_.

"Hey," Terra says, sitting up. "There's Darcy!"

The silver butterfly is turning triple flips across the sky, performing steep dives and corkscrew turns - moves that, in my opinion, look more impressive when the animal is a dragon. I look at the butterfly, then back at Terra. "Are you sure Darcy is still on board?"

"Yeah," Terra says, laughing. "Listen to her!"

I listen carefully, and over the roar of the wind I can hear Darcy yowling out the lyrics to a song I've never heard. This prompts a question that I've been meaning to ask Terra for awhile, and I say, "Why don't you sing whole songs to call your dragons?"

"I've got control to the point where I only need one note," Terra says. Then, with a slightly embarrassed smile, "And I thought it was really cheesy to be singing songs while I'm fighting."

I see her point, but before I can say anything else, Darcy brings the butterfly in for a perfect landing. She hops off and says smugly, "Well?"

"Did aliens abduct you and rewire your brain?" Terra says. "Where did that come from?"

"How should I know?" Darcy says, shrugging. "I've got somewhere to go, so if we could be done now -"

"We're done when I say we're done," Terra says. "Incidentally, where do you want to go?"

"The film festival," Darcy says. "They're showing all the great romantic movies today. Jane's already there; she wanted to see _Sleepless in Seattle_."

"Of course," Terra says, rolling her eyes. "What else is playing?"

"Let me see…" Darcy says. She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. "_Sleepless in Seattle _already happened, but at one-thirty we've got _Stranger than Fiction_, followed by _Ghost_. Then there's _Beauty and the Beast _and _The Princess Bride_ back-to-back, and they're finishing up with _Titanic_. Can I go?"

"_The Princess Bride _and _Beauty and the Beast_?" Terra says, looking interested. "I'm sold. Let's get back to the house. I don't know about you, but I need a shower to get rid of all this sunscreen."

"I need a shower, too," Darcy says. "You wouldn't believe how much sand I got in my hair from all those crashes." Then Darcy aims a strange look at Terra. "You wear sunscreen? This is, like, the perfect time to get a tan!"

"Or skin cancer," Terra mutters. She turns to me. "What about you, Loki? Are you up for seeing some movies?"

Movies are the one earth experience I've been a little wary about. There's something odd to me about paying money and going to a theater to watch something that's not even real. From what Terra's told me about them, they sound like a gigantic scam. But both Terra and Darcy seem excited about it - something that's a rare occurrence - and I decide that it can't hurt to go.

"I'll go," I say.

"Great," Terra says. "Come on, let's go. Hey, Darcy, guess what? This time, you get to fly back on your own!"

"Sweet!" Darcy cheers.

"Just stay out of my wing space," Terra says. Both Terra and Darcy refer to their animals' wings as being theirs. "Otherwise you'll get knocked end over end and I'll have to save you."

I climb onto the air dragon's back behind Terra. "Hang on," she says, somewhat unnecessarily. I'm already holding on tight.

I spend about an hour waiting around the house while Darcy and Terra get ready. Terra is ready much faster than Darcy, and she bounces a shoe off the door to Darcy's room on her way downstairs. "Hurry up!"

Once all members of the film festival party are ready to go - only Erik is staying behind - we pile into the car and drive the ten minutes to the amphitheater, where the movies are being shown. The parking lot is crowded, and I feel a twinge of nervousness. There are many more humans here than I'm used to.

"How long do we have before the next movie starts?" Terra says to Darcy, who's the only one with a watch.

"We missed _Stranger than Fiction_," Darcy reports, "but _Ghost _is starting in fifteen minutes. I'll text Jane and ask her where she's sitting."

"And while you do that," Terra says, "I am going to go find some junk food. Coming with me, Loki?"

"All right," I say, and follow Terra through the crowd to a concession stand, full of brightly colored boxes with strange labels. I hesitate, wondering what to pick, and turn to find Terra, her arms already full of boxes and bars.

"The Milk Duds are for Jane," Terra says, indicating a bright yellow box. "Darcy likes the Crunch bars. And the M&M's are for me. Do you know what you'd like?"

I have absolutely no idea. "Milk Duds?" I say, partly because that's the only one I can think of off the top of my head.

"Do you even know what they are?" Terra says. When I shake my head, she says, "Then you don't want them, unless you want to end up with your teeth superglued together. How about this - we'll just grab a couple different kinds and you can decide which ones you like and which ones you don't."

After Terra selects a few more boxes and we pay for them, we weave back through the crowds of people to find Darcy, who upon seeing us sets off for the amphitheater proper. Jane is sitting on one of the mid-levels on a blanket spread out in the grass, in the shade of the wall. Terra dumps the candy on the blanket, sits down, and says, "Hey, Jane. How was _Sleepless in Seattle_?"

"Good," Jane says, picking up the Milk Duds and prying open the box. She pulls a piece of candy out of the box, pops it into her mouth, and says, "I cried."

"Knew it," Terra says. She turns to Darcy and holds out one hand. "Cough up, Darcy."

Darcy sulkily extracts a dollar bill from her pocket and drops it into Terra's palm. "Remind me not to make any more bets with Terra," she grumbles to Jane.

"Hey," Terra says, folding up the dollar and tucking it away. "Don't make bets unless you're willing to cough up if you lose."

"Shh," Jane admonishes. "_Ghost_ is starting."

My worries that I'd be unable to follow the plot of the movie are unfounded, but there seems to be an unnecessary amount of sexual content. When I bring this up to Terra, she rolls her eyes and says, "Tell me about it."

The movie picks up, however, when the lead male character dies. Rather than vanishing off into the swirl of lights that appears shortly after his death, he stays around to - as Terra would put it - stalk his living lover.

"Why is he still here?" I ask. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"He's walking through walls; I'd say he's dead," Jane says.

Terra is clearly out of patience with the entire movie. "You know, Jane, that it's impossible for him to be able to move stuff and at the same time be able to walk through walls. It's a violation of the laws of physics!"

"Terra, you're spoiling the plot!" Darcy shrieks. "The moving stuff around hasn't happened yet!"

"Oh, excuse me," Terra says. "I'm so sorry. But since Loki's the only one who hasn't seen it before, I should really be apologizing to him."

"It's all right," I say. "I saw it coming, anyway. It was a natural progression."

Jane looks at Terra. "You really hate this movie, don't you?"

"That should be patently obvious."

"Don't worry, it is," Darcy says. "But seriously, Terra - the guy loves her so much that he comes back from the dead to protect her. Don't you think that's romantic at all?"

Terra considers it a moment. "No. I can honestly say that I don't."

"You're hopeless," Darcy says, and Jane nods agreement.

"What surprises me," Terra says, "is that you two actually enjoy watching this sorry attempt at a love story. It's pathetic! This whole move is practically one giant excuse for Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore to take their clothes off!"

My alarm must show on my face - _what in the Nine Worlds is wrong with the movie industry? _- because Jane says, "Don't say stuff like that, Terra. You're freaking Loki out."

"Forget Loki, you're freaking me out," Darcy says. "God, Terra!"

"It's true," Terra insists.

"Okay, maybe it is true," Darcy admits. "But Patrick Swayze is sexy."

Terra rolls her eyes. "He's also dead."

"Dead sexy, then," Darcy counters, and she and Jane both dissolve into giggles.

From this point on, Terra proceeds to ignore both the mortals and the movie, choosing instead to open the magic book and study it. After awhile she pulls out a pen and begins to write on a fresh page. Since watching Terra too much usually prompts angry outbursts (along the lines of "Quit staring at me, you creeper!") and the movie doesn't really hold my interest, I turn my attention to the candy. By the time the credits roll and _Ghost _is over, I've finished all three boxes and I'm feeling more than a little ill.

"Are you okay, Loki? You look like you're going to puke," Darcy says.

"I don't think _Ghost _agreed with him," Jane says.

"That makes two of us," Terra says. She extends a hand to me, and when I take it she tugs me to my feet. "Come on. We've got a few minutes before the next movie starts. You should try to walk it off."

Terra darts and weaves through the crowd. Since she's still holding my hand, I'm towed after her as she climbs the stairs through the levels of the amphitheater. The top level gazes out on the desert, and when Terra reaches it, she pauses beside a bench, waiting for me.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"Maybe," I say, drawing even with her. Our hands are still interlocked, and I'm reminded of the first time I met her. "Are you?"

Terra shudders. "No. I thought I was suffocating down there. And that movie really didn't help."

"Terra," I say, because a rather obvious problem has presented itself, "if you don't like romantic movies, why are you here?"

"I don't know," Terra says with an exasperated noise, sitting down on the bench and inadvertently towing me with her. "I always assume I can handle the romantic movies, but then as soon as they start I get so crazy!"

"Why?"

Terra sighs. "They're just so….so unrealistic. Like all you have to do is walk down the street, and one day you'll catch somebody's eye, and you'll be together forever." Her voice rises mockingly at the end of the sentence. "It doesn't work like that. And the kind of love they show in these movies doesn't exist for everyone. It doesn't exist for me."

"You don't know that," I say.

Terra's free hand rises to the gold chain at her throat. "Oh, I do."

"You _can't_ know that," I say. It's impossible. Although the Fates are fabled to live in a nightmare palace that connects to Earth, the road to their black loom is so perilous that no one survives it.

"Really?" Terra's voice is amused.

She seems to know something I don't - or at least she's pretending she does - and it irritates me. "Terra, you're being annoyingly vague."

"Yeah," Terra agrees. She traces patterns on the armrest of the bench with the tip of her finger. "It's stupid," she says in a low voice. "It's stupid how you can do something for the greater good of everyone else and then find out that in the process of doing so you've wrecked your own life."

I have to agree with her; my choice to destroy Jotunheim set me on a path that I never imagined, but my life has changed for the better because of it. Terra obviously doesn't feel the same way about whatever choice she made. It's on the tip of my tongue to ask her, but I can tell just by her expression and body language that she won't answer. I have a feeling that this piece of her past relates to the chain around her neck, and by extension to the one on my wrist.

"We'd better go back," Terra says, standing up again and letting go of my hand. For a moment, my fingers remain curled around hers, but then I force them back to their natural position. "Otherwise we're going to miss the beginning of _The Princess Bride_."

"This _Princess Bride _movie," I say as we walk back into the amphitheater, "is it anything like the other movie?"

Terra smiles, and my heart gives that strange leap again. "No," she says. "I think you'll actually like this one."

After the _Ghost _debacle, I'm extremely wary of the new movie, despite Terra's assurances that it's not like the other one. But, as Terra predicted (she must know me better than I think) it takes exactly twelve lines of dialogue before I start laughing.

"A _kissing book_?" I say, snickering. "I like this movie."

"Knew it," Terra says.

I find _The Princess Bride _to be thoroughly enjoyable, and while the next movie (_Beauty and the Beast_) strikes me as being a little strange - if it's not real, why do you make it even more unreal by refusing to use real actors? - the two together help lift my mood a little. They seem to have the same effect on Terra, who, ten minutes after the credits roll on _Beauty and the Beast_, is still humming the theme song.

"Stop it," Darcy says as the next movie begins. "I want to hear the beginning, and I can't if you're singing about a tale as old as time."

"What's so important about the beginning?" Terra says. "The beginning's nothing but Celine Dion singing 'My Heart Will Go On' for an unreasonable amount of time."

"It's a good song," Darcy says.

Terra stops humming and stares at her. "You're kidding, right?"

"Quiet," says Jane, and several other groups of people around us echo the sentiment. It appears that this movie is the one everyone's been waiting for. Terra rolls her eyes, pulls a piece of paper and a pen out of her pocket, and writes something down. She passes both pen and paper to me. Her note reads, _This movie is a pain. I'll bet everyone's going to be crying by the end of it._

_ Why?_ I write back.

_Well, it's about this ship called the Titanic_, Terra writes. _It was supposed to be unsinkable, only it wasn't. It went down in the middle of the ocean and most of the people on board died. It's actually a true story_.

_Sounds tragic_, I write.

_It is_, Terra answers. _Only in this movie, they've fabricated a cheesy love story about it. And that's why everyone cries. The story of the Titanic is a morality tale - it's supposed to be about how humanity can't ever think they're stronger than nature - and here the filmmakers have turned it into this dumb tragic romance. This whole movie is one big instance of missing the point_.

The movie continues, and most of the people around me are rapt, eyes locked on the screen. Terra is flipping through her magic book again, and I find my eyes drawn inexorably to her as she turns a page and tilts her head ever so slightly to put the words within sight of her good eye.

There was always something off to me about Terra's eyes, although I could never place exactly what it was. I'm impressed at how well she covers it - if I hadn't seen her miss the strike that caved her chest in, I never would have noticed. But I still think there's something else that she's hiding about her left eye. The skin around her blind eye seems different than the skin on the rest of her face. But like the chain around her neck, I think that whatever else is wrong with her eye is a secret that Terra won't give up so easily.

I wonder how Thor felt when he met Jane. Was he certain of his feelings from the first moment he saw her? He probably was; my brother isn't the type to think things through. I am, though, and I seem to spend far too much time now dissecting every move I make around Terra, when I should be thinking of ways to reconnect the Bifrost and go home.

Do I even still want to go home? In Asgard, I was always on the outside, by virtue of the fact that I wasn't an outstanding physical specimen like my brother. On Earth, I don't feel so out of place. I have friends, rather than people who are forced to spend time with me by order of my father - or the man who I thought was my father. And there's Terra. I'm wary of using the word _love_ to describe my feelings for her, but infatuation, obsession, attraction - none of these seem to work.

Someone nudges me with their shoulder, and I look up to see Terra. Once she has my attention, she points to Jane, who is sniffling and wiping at her eyes. _Told you_, she mouths, and returns to her book.

I look around and see that people are crying all around us, but Darcy doesn't seem to be experiencing that particular emotion. Instead, she's looking around, her eyes wild, as though she's scared of something. Perhaps I should alert Terra; it might be some sort of Siren thing.

"Terra," I say quietly. "Something's wrong with -"

But as I turn to speak to her, Terra doubles over as though she's been hit in the stomach, all the breath leaving her in a whoosh of air. The magic book falls from her hands, and the look in her eyes isn't Terra at all - it's someone else, panicked and trapped, with wide, shocked eyes. And into the silence, Darcy begins to cry for real, wails of grief that no one could ever mistake for a few tears at a sappy movie. Something has happened - something bad - and I know that the grace period Terra spoke of after the Titans were captured is over.


	10. Enemies Mine

New chapter at last. Thanks to The Obsessionist, Impish Wisdoms, and C Cawthorne for reviews, and a thousand writer points to my lovely editor.

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><p>Terra:<p>

The ache in my ribs is nothing compared to the one in my chest. It feels like someone's ripped out my heart, but at the same time, not _my _heart. All Sirens are interconnected, and whenever one of us is angry or scared or really, truly, hurt, all of us feel the pain. Right now, someone's hit one of my Sirens, maybe fracturing a rib, but they've also done something much worse.

I hear a wail from Darcy, feel Loki's hands on my shoulders, even hear the stupid theme music from _Titanic_ in the background, but I'm focused on the injured Siren. Who is it, and why do I feel this horrible, wrenching grief?

"No," I whisper, as all the pieces snap together in one terrible moment. "Not Renna and Ember."

I can see it, like a movie playing on the inside of my skull; Renna and Ember walking through a silent forest, hand in hand. Then, dark figures wearing the Guardian insignia surround them. They fight, Renna starts to sing, but the Guardians leap on her, hitting her in the stomach and clamping their hands over her mouth. Ember starts toward her, his whole being intent on rescuing her - and then one of the Guardians plunges a knife into his back.

It's Darcy's wailing that pulls me out of Renna's confused, grief-stricken mind and back into my own. I realize that Darcy is making a scene, and I have to get her out of here before everyone in the amphitheater catches on to the fact that there's something wrong.

"Come on," I say, pulling Darcy to her feet. She flops limply like a rag doll, and the unexpected weight nearly tips me over. Loki, however, catches us both before we fall and helps me support Darcy up the stairs and out of the amphitheater.

"What is it?" Loki asks as we drag Darcy further away from the amphitheater.

"It's Renna," I say, my voice tight. "The Guardians captured her, and they killed Ember right in front of her."

"No," Darcy screams, tilting her head back and giving voice to the emotions that Renna, wherever she is, can't. "No!"

"Stop it," I snarl, turning on Darcy. This incessant sobbing isn't helping anyone. When she continues to cry, I slap her across the face. It startles her just enough that she stops crying and stares at me with shocked eyes.

"Listen," I say. "I feel the same way as you do, but this isn't helping Renna at all. If you'll quit screaming, I'll talk to her and find out what we need to do."

Darcy quiets, and I shut my eyes, reaching out to Renna. Her thoughts, usually clear and lucid, are muddled with pain and grief, but I still get a sense of where she is. She's moving fast - _too fast to be on foot, she must be in a car _- and the scents and sounds of a big city surround her.

_Renna_, I say softly. _Where are you?_

_New York_, she answers. The sadness inside her is like a riptide, threatening to tow me under. _They say I'm a traitor and they killed Ember and they left his body out there in the woods, and, and -_

Renna's losing her ability for coherent thought fast, slipping back into the more animalistic thought processes that take over when someone's in great pain. I know I'm going to have to get the information I need to stage a rescue soon, before she loses control completely.

_It's okay_, I say, trying to project calm. _We're coming to get you. It's going to be okay. Is there anything else I should know?_

A storm of feelings hits me, pain and fear and protectiveness and love and rage, but I only get one word out of it. _Pregnant_.

"Terra!"

Loki's voice draws me back into my own mind and body, and as I open my eyes again I realize that I'm on my knees in the dust, head cradled in my hands. Loki is crouched beside me, and Darcy is standing over us.

"What do you know?" Darcy says. I see the imprint of my hand on her cheek, and I feel a fleeting twinge of guilt for slapping her as hard as I did. But at least her eyes are dry now, and the crying has stopped.

"She's in New York," I report. "That's where the Guardians are centered, so that's no surprise. Ember is dead, and Renna seems to think that the Guardians are going to put her on trial for treason."

Darcy shakes her head. "That's awful."

"It gets worse," I say. "She's pregnant."

There's a stunned silence after I drop that little bombshell, but I start talking again because we don't have time. "It'll take two hours at least to get to New York, and we've got to get her out of there before they pass a sentence. Once they do that, they put you in these unbreakable chains and lock you in the dungeon. So we'll need to leave as soon as we can pick up our gear from the house -"

"Terra," Loki says. I turn all the way around to look at him. Once he knows he's within my sight lines, he says, "You know this is a trap."

"Well, yeah," I say. "They want to provoke me into going back, so they can capture me and turn me into their little puppet Princess again. What did you thinkthey were doing this for?"

"Hang on," Darcy says before Loki can respond. "If they wanted to capture you and lure you in, why didn't they just kill Renna and be done with it? For all they know, you could be perfectly happy to leave her in prison!"

"No," Loki says. "The murder of a Siren would be considered an act of war, and Terra would likely respond by launching an attack on the Guardians that they are unprepared to face. In addition, those who know Terra well probably also know that she is unlikely to leave a friend in the hands of her enemies."

Loki looks at me. "Based on that, Terra, I think they've got you trapped already."

"I don't see it as being trapped," I respond. I'm not entirely surprised that Loki figured out the Guardians' motives, but it also gives me chills. Loki must know me better than I think, just like the person who orchestrated Renna's capture and wove this clever net I'm now ensnared in. "I can choose whether or not to go, but I choose to go save my friend. Now it's your turn to choose - are you coming with me?"

If Loki goes with me, I'll have a much better chance of escaping the Guardian stronghold a second time. But I don't really want him to see New York, I don't want him to see the Guardians, and I definitely don't want him within a hundred miles of Lethe or Adrian. It's not that I don't trust Loki to handle himself, it's just that I'm worried he might be hurt. And I really hate myself for worrying about him. I've got my own problems - first and foremost, my blind eye. As the fight with the Titans showcased, worrying about someone else puts my own life in danger. But I can't stop doing it.

"I will go with you," Loki says, and I simultaneously experience a sense of relief and the feeling that some of Darcy's butterflies are fluttering around in my chest.

"What about me?" Darcy asks.

"This isn't a game," I say, repeating what I said when she asked to become a Siren. "I could use your help, but if you aren't prepared for this, you need to stay here. It's going to be hard enough to save Renna, and Loki and I can't be there to protect you. Can you handle it?"

"Yes," Darcy says, and the expression on her face is fierce. "What are we waiting for? Let's get moving!"

We leave the car for Jane, returning to the house instead by way of dragon and butterfly. Erik gets only the slightest of explanations when he asks why we're rushing around like maniacs, stealing kitchen knives and grabbing throwing stars and - in my case - dressing Darcy in my old armor.

"Don't you need this?" she asks as I help her lace up the back of the wraparound chest piece.

"Nah," I say. "It slows me down, and I'm good enough at fighting that I don't get hit too often. Besides, the Guardians trained me. I know how they fight. It's better that you have it. Loki!" I holler up the stairs. He's on the second floor, doing I don't know what. "Let's GO!"

Loki comes down the stairs with a small white dagger in his hand. For a moment it doesn't register with me, but then I take a second look at it and realize that it's a piece of the Soul-Reaver - _my_ piece of the Soul-Reaver - and what the hell is Loki doing with it?

I open my mouth to say something, but Loki says swiftly, "Terra, listen. You need to carry this with you. If that demon, whatever her name is, is there, you'll have to use it."

He holds the Soul-Reaver shard gingerly, and he's right to - if the weapon even scratches you, it starts to draw your soul out. If you're killed with the Soul-Reaver, your soul doesn't move on to the underworld. It stays trapped in the blade of the sword, stuck forever.

I notice that Loki's rigged a crude handle for the Soul-Reaver shard, wrapping the base of it in fabric and tying it with cord to give me a safe handhold. He flips it around in his hand and presents it to me hilt-first.

"Thanks," I say, hooking it onto my belt along with my two knives. Darcy, looking very strange in my leather armor, carries a kitchen knife that I doubt she knows how to use. Loki has my other two knives and a belt of throwing stars looped across his chest.

"Well," I say, "we've got to be the strangest rescue party the world has ever seen."

"Yeah," Darcy says. "Renna's going to be so surprised to see us."

I order the air dragon to discard caution and fly as fast as it can on the most direct path to New York. While I'm not receiving any new information from Renna, I know that we can't waste any time - not even hiding from airplanes. I think I was spotted at least once, but I'm hoping that the pilot who saw me will assume it was a hallucination. And the whole flight there, I try not to think about what waits in New York.

On a list of the top five worst things that have ever happened to me, three of those occurred in New York. Although the very worst - the day I cut myself out of the Fates' loom - didn't happen there, New York is where I lost my sight again, went on trial for failure in a mission and the underlying accusation of treason, and found out that the first guy I ever fell in love with cared more about his position in the Guardians than he cared about me.

Even now, thinking about the underground chamber where I was chained and tried before the Guardians, I get shivers and my heart starts to speed. It's funny to me that, out of everything I've been through, it's that room and that event that turns out to be the one that gives me post-traumatic stress disorder. I still see the iron door on the chamber in my dreams every night.

"Terra?" Loki says into my ear. As usual, he's sitting behind me, arms locked around my waist. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I say, lying and feeling a little bad about it. This in itself annoys me; the people around me have to accept that, at any given moment, I may be lying or omitting certain pieces of the truth. So why should lying to Loki upset me at all? "Why do you ask?"

"Your heart rate is speeding up," Loki says.

I've no doubt that it is, but it surprises me that he pointed it out. With our extra-good hearing, immortals always pick up on things like each other's heartbeats and breathing, but it's bad manners to mention it, unless you're extremely close to that person. Let me illustrate with an example; if Renna's heartbeat was going fast, Ember would mention it to her, but I never would.

"So what if it is?" I say combatively, trying to calm my racing heart. There are several explanations for the sudden hike in my heart rate. Possibly it's because I'm flying, another reason might be the thought of going back to New York, or maybe - my stomach clenches at this - because Loki's arms are around me.

"Is it normal?" Loki asks, impervious as usual to the tone of my voice. That particular tone, the if-you-keep-talking-I-will-rip-out-your-voice-box tone, sends most people running for cover. "Or are you going to drop dead at any second?"

"It's normal," I say. At least I think it is. I'm on the point of voicing that last thought when I realize what I'm doing, and I say, "Why? Doesn't it happen to you?"

Loki's voice sounds funny when he says, "Only sometimes."

My cheeks start to burn - why do I always have to blush at the most inopportune moment? As I look up, I see a cluster of bright lights up ahead. New York City, here we come. The dragon and butterfly both go into a steep dive at my direction and we land unobtrusively in a deserted alley in Manhattan.

Loki wrinkles his nose. "It doesn't smell right here."

"Yeah, no kidding," I say. I'd forgotten how the acrid scents of gasoline and smoke sting my nasal passages. How could I have lived here?

Darcy, having never been flying for so long, is having a bit of trouble regaining her land legs. She tips over and I have a fleeting immature thought of _I see London, I see France _as I avert my eyes_._

Loki looks to be one part sorry for Darcy and nine parts highly amused. "Why didn't you tell her to change out of the miniskirt?"

"Honestly? It never occurred to me that anyone would think that a miniskirt was appropriate battle attire," I say as Darcy rights herself, glaring at us.

"Are you guys done making fun of my clothes?" she says angrily. "Can we go save Renna now?"

"By all means," I say. I set off through the streets of New York, steadfastly ignoring the catcalls, whistles, and cries of, "Yo, Arwen, what's up?"

The Guardian stronghold is buried beneath the ruins of a building on the darker side of Manhattan. Since the Guardians don't like the sunlight - in fact, they tend to spontaneously combust in response to it - it makes sense that their central hub of operations would be underground. There are miles and miles of tunnels surrounding it, undermining most of Manhattan, but those tunnels are all booby-trapped. I used to know which ones wouldn't cave in on you, but I'm sure they've changed where the traps are set. The only choice is to go through the main entrance.

Unfortunately, they've set a guard, and the guard happens to be Aaron. I have a bit of a history with Aaron, having saved his life a couple million times, and there's no doubt that he'd recognize me. I don't want to have to kill him, but that's what I'll have to do to prevent him raising the alarm.

"Use a distraction," Loki suggests when I voice this. "Then sneak up behind him and knock him out."

"Good idea," I say. Loki is the king of good ideas. I glance around, looking for a suitable distraction, and my good eye focuses on Darcy. "Darcy, go distract him."

Darcy looks at Aaron, and back at me. "What should I do?"

"Flirt with him," I say.

She looks appalled. "Why don't you do it?"

"Because he'd recognize me," I say, losing patience. "And Loki can't do it because I'm fairly certain that Aaron's attracted to girls. It's not like I'm asking you to marry him - I'm just asking you to distract him so that Loki and I can knock him out. Okay?"

"All right, all right," Darcy grumbles, picking her way through the dusty street to the ruins. "You don't have to yell."

The instant Darcy comes into Aaron's sightlines, she starts walking differently. Crossing one leg in front of the other on each step, chest out, hips shaking. Aaron, despite being a sweet kid and completely inept where girls are concerned, can't take his eyes off her.

"Ah, the sexy walk," I mutter as Darcy crosses the street to Aaron. "I never figured out how to do that without tripping over my own feet."

Loki says something quietly, and I don't catch it. "What?"

"I said you don't need to walk like that," Loki says. While I'm sorting through that and trying to figure out what he means, he points to Darcy and Aaron. "We need to get moving."

Loki and I creep across the street behind Aaron, and as we come closer to them I can hear what Darcy's saying.

"Nice place you've got here," she says.

"I, um, don't live here," Aaron says, stumbling over his words. I feel a pang of pity for him; he can't talk to girls at all. I was planning to set him up with a nice Siren, but then I got sent on that mission and all my plans went out the window. "I'm just, you know, keeping an eye on it."

"Ooh, are you into, like, drugs?" Darcy says with a high-pitched giggle. "Don't worry - I won't tell! Hey, did you know that ninety percent of girls find bad boys more attractive?"

"So not true," I hiss as Loki gives me a questioning look. "Hit him on three; one, two -"

Loki and I both hit Aaron, and the Guardian drops like a stone. I bind his hands and feet and we drag him behind one of the piles of rubble. He'll have a goose egg the size of a baseball when he wakes up, but he'll be all right.

Darcy regards Aaron's unconscious form with some regret. "I'm sorry," she tells him. "You seemed like a really nice guy."

"He is," I say, tapping on portions of the ground with a piece of pipe, looking for the secret entrance. "Normally, I'd tell you to go for it, but in the present situation, hooking up with Guardians is not a good idea."

"Terra?" Loki says. He's kneeling down, one hand resting on a piece of metal paneling. "I found the entrance."

It takes the combined strength of all three of us to haul the panel away from the door it conceals. I pause by the darkened entrance, listening, but the movement of air suggests that there's nothing down there but a long tunnel, just as I remember it.

My heart speeds up again at the idea of going down into that darkness. For someone who's named for the earth, I have an unreasonable fear of going underground. But all I can think of is the last time I entered the Guardian stronghold, and how I had to fight my way out.

"Don't be stupid," I say out loud, and I jump down into the tunnel.

The dirt floor of the landing place gives way to tile, and I reach out my hand, feeling for the edge. I find it and say, "All clear!"

Unfortunately, I forget to move after saying this, and so the next person to jump (Loki) lands directly on top of me. As you might expect, this leads to an incredibly awkward moment. If this were a romantic comedy, we would most definitely kiss right now, but my life has never followed the script.

Darcy lands - well off to the side - and smirks at us. "You know, if you two wanted alone time, all you needed to do was ask. But I seriously think it should wait until we save Renna."

"Why do you always make everything sound dirty?" I say furiously, giving Loki a shove away from me. He seems kind of stunned, probably because my shoulder went straight into his solar plexus when he fell.

"Hey," Darcy says. "You kind of asked for it. Let's go, lovebirds!"

We move off down the tunnel. My boots and Loki's click softly on the tile floor, but Darcy's heels let loose a staccato tapping sound that will alert everyone to our position. When Darcy pauses and asks if she should take off her shoes, I shake my head. "Don't worry about it. After all, they're expecting us."

The sight of the great iron door that leads to the gathering chamber pulls me up short. I see that door in my dreams quite a bit, though never from this side. In my dreams, it's always swinging shut, trapping me in the gathering hall for accusation and punishment. There's no handle or lock on the door, but that's not a problem.

I sing a note - F sharp - and summon the fire dragon. "What do you guys say we make an entrance?"

"By all means," Loki says, and Darcy adds, "Let's blow something up!"

We take shelter around the corner, and I order the fire dragon to open the door. It interprets this command as meaning _blow the door off its hinges _and reacts accordingly. Shrapnel sprays everywhere, chunks of white-hot metal flying both on this side and the other of what was formerly a door, and one piece cuts my cheek right down to the bone. I swear and bring one hand up, cradling the bleeding cut.

"Terra -" Loki says, seeing the trail of blood running down my face, but I cut him off.

"Forget about it," I say, pressing my hand against it in a failed attempt to stem the flow. "They're going to be disoriented in there, so this is our best shot to make a move. Follow me!"

I take a deep breath, order my dragon to follow me, and run full tilt into the hall. The dust is still settling as I skid to a stop in the center aisle, flanked by Darcy on my right and Loki on my left. The scene slowly takes shape; the seats on either side of the aisle filled with Guardians, the high platform with three chairs, three people sitting in judgment. But the only thing I'm focused on is the smaller, lower platform where Renna is chained.

I run to her, Darcy following. When I first broke the Guardians' special chains, I thought the only way to do it was to melt through the manacles, even though doing that sends molten iron pouring down your wrists. I still have scars from my last escape from Guardian chains. This time, though, I don't play around. I order the dragon to burn through the chains about a foot from Renna's hands, and she's free.

Renna's golden eyes are liquid with grief, and as soon as she's loosed from the chains, she collapses. I lunge forward and catch her before she hits the floor, her body boneless and limp. It scares me to see Renna like this. She's always been strong, holding up whenever I needed her help, but now, she's the one who can't control herself.

"It's okay," I say to Renna, who's sobbing again. I gently transfer her to Darcy's arms, because Darcy can comfort Renna better than I can, and because I've got something else to deal with.

I turn my eyes to the high platform, and to the three chairs upon it. First, in the center chair, is Lethe. Mother dearest regards me with a smug expression, as though she always knew I'd return. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out or flip her off or do anything to suggest that she's getting to me.

The sight of the person in the next chair might be the only thing on earth that can make me want to turn tail and run. But then I master myself and meet Ashari's eyes. I have to wonder what the demon is doing here, but then again, Lethe is now one of the Guardians' most trusted councilors. I suppose death goddess to demon isn't too far of a leap to make, is it?

But it's the third person on the high platform who I hate the most. Adrian, blond and brown-eyed, sits there, looking at me with something like wonder in his eyes. He stands up, steps cautiously down the stairs, and walks toward me, a hopeful expression on his face. For one crazy moment, I think about accepting Lethe's offer; drinking the river water, forgetting everything, and living happily ever after with Adrian. He'd take me back, I know he would.

Almost as soon as that thought crosses my mind, another thought swims in like a shark and eats the first one. _Screw that_, it burps, and I grin.

Once Adrian is within arm's reach of me, I slap him as hard as I can. I'm not generally the slapping type, but the sound of my hand hitting his face is very satisfying. Adrian's head snaps sideways, and he brings one hand to his cheek, staring at me. Deciding that my slap didn't hurt him nearly enough, I curl my left hand into a fist and punch him.

With all my weight behind it, the punch sends Adrian sprawling backwards, tripping on his own feet and falling over at the base of the high platform. Meanwhile, I'm grinning like a fool. Whenever I imagined confrontations with Adrian, they always ended in me falling apart into a sobbing mess. Based on that, I'm doing well.

Ashari leaps off the high platform and capers toward me, dancing and laughing like a mad person. I notice that she has the Soul-Reaver strapped into a sheath across her back. It makes me angry to see her with it; the Soul-Reaver is my weapon, and from what I've heard, she's been misusing its power. Ashari with the Soul-Reaver is like Chaos with the Mjolnir - definitely not a good thing.

_ Don__'t move_, I say to Darcy as the demon advances, hoping that Loki's smart enough to figure it out on his own. _Demons have a chase reflex. If you move, she'll attack_.

It takes all my self-control to stay frozen as Ashari flits in a circle around me. "What's the matter, Princess?" she says. She grabs my chin and jerks my head around so that she's within sight of my good eye. "Demon got your tongue?"

I bring up one hand and rip her fingers free. "Don't touch, Ashari. By the way, how's your hand feeling?"

I definitely came off worse in the last fight I had with Ashari, but she didn't escape unscathed either. I managed to cut off the last two fingers on her right hand, and as I mention it, she snarls. Then her face clears, and she skips lightly off into my blind spot. "Can you see me now, Princess?"

"I can," says Loki. I turn my head and see that he's still flanking me on the left, and Ashari's little skipping pattern has carried her into the space between us. Loki looks perfectly calm and at ease, his breathing light and even, but it's clear to me at least that he's ready to fight at a moment's notice.

Ashari's focus turns to him. "An Asgardian…how exotic."

She moves around Loki, studying him from all angles, fingers brushing across the tops of his shoulders and the planes of his chest. The fact that she's touching him, that she's even near him at all, makes me unreasonably angry.

"My, my, little Princess," Ashari says, licking her lips. "You do meet interesting people."

I receive a thought from Darcy. _Terra, are you just going to let her mess around with your man like that? Do something!_

_Loki is not my man! _I shoot back.

_You _wish_ he was_, Darcy says. _So do something about it before he ends up as Ashari's man!_

_Don't do anything_, Renna says, entering the conversation. She seems to have regained some control over herself, and her thoughts are cool and collected, though tinged with unimaginable grief. _Ashari knows something, Terra. Wait just a moment, and she'll tell you what it is_.

Renna's a Watcher; she sees the future and tells a little. So rather than smacking Ashari away from Loki like I really want to do, I wait, and say, "I suppose I do meet interesting people. Far more interesting than you or Adrian."

Ashari giggles, a high, tinkling sound completely at odds with her red eyes and fangs. "Oh, little Princess, Adrian's gotten a lot more interesting lately."

"How so?" I ask, glancing offhandedly at Adrian. He's picked himself up off the floor, but he looks distinctly worse for wear. "He still looks like a big dumbass to me."

There's a hastily muffled snort of laughter from somewhere in the ranks of Guardians, but I don't have time to dwell on it. Ashari comes up behind me and puts her hands on the sides of my head, forcing me to look directly at Adrian. Her long fingernails dig into my skin, but I can't see whatever it is she wants me to see. Then I see it out of the corner of my good eye - the faint trail of blood-red that floats along behind him, moving as he moves.

I've only seen that red trail once before; during my last fight as a friend of the Guardians, before the mission, we fought a Chaos-born. It was weak and dying, having found Earth an inhospitable place, but it still killed three Guardians and I barely made it out alive. The Chaos-born had the same red trail that now follows Adrian. That can only mean one thing. Adrian's been corrupted. And if that's true, I've badly miscalculated, and Darcy, Renna, and Loki may all die because of it.

"Oh, no," I whisper, and Ashari starts to laugh.


	11. How to Save a Life

It's been quite awhile. I apologize for the delay - and for the cliffhanger at the end of last chapter. A thousand writer-points to my lovely editors for dealing with my neuroses and my obsessive need for feedback. Also, thanks to Furionknight and Ferdinand Sutcliff for the reviews. More reviews will always be appreciated here. Okay, here we go.

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><p>Loki:<p>

I catalogue the exits and reach a troubling conclusion; there's only one way out of this chamber, and it's the way we came in. And there are roughly three hundred Guardians between us and what used to be the door. I'm not worried about the number of Guardians. After all, we do have four fighters, counting Renna. Renna seems to be controlling herself, at least enough to communicate mentally with Terra and Darcy. I should remind them that if they want to be secretive about talking mind-to-mind, they need to stop looking at each other while they're sending messages.

I'm distracted by new trickles of blood running down Terra's face, from claw marks made by the demon's fingernails. The creature won't let go of Terra, but Terra isn't trying to fight free. Instead, she's staring intently at Adrian. Then the expression on her face goes from confused but concentrating to pure horror.

"Oh, no," Terra says.

The demon laughs. "Oh, yes, little Princess!"

Something has clearly gone wrong, but whatever it is escapes me. Darcy seems to know, but she looks confused, as though the message she's receiving from Terra doesn't quite make sense. Renna tilts her head, listening, and her features set into a grim mask.

"Adrian's been corrupted," she says to me, and that's all I need to know that this trap, so blatantly obvious, is a lot more sophisticated and deadly than we originally took it for. It always is when Chaos is involved.

Chaos is a primal force, like the Titans, although it's from Chaos that the Titans drew greater power. It's destructive, powerful, mindless, with one goal; to undo the boundaries between the Nine Worlds and force them into one. Somewhat ironically, the only way the Worlds can defeat Chaos is by standing together, and the breaking of the Bifrost - the one link between them - will have weakened their defenses against Chaos beyond repair. And in the case of Earth, rendered them so powerless that even an order like the Guardians, dedicated to protecting Earth's people, can be infected by it.

Renna's fingers lock around my wrist, and for a moment I don't understand why. Then I hear a mental voice that must be Renna's. _Damn you, Terra, share your thoughts with Loki. He won't live long if he's receiving everything secondhand_.

_My mind is my own_, Terra answers. She seems to be working hard to stay calm; either that, or she's blocking me from sharing her emotions. Likely a combination of both.

_Do you want him to die? _Renna snarls across the mental link. _Is that what you want, Terra?_

_No! _Terra's response is so violent that it sends me staggering a step back, and Renna has to tug me back to vertical. Renna nods once, then releases my hand.

_Loki, can you hear me? _Terra says.

I nod, then remember that we aren't talking out loud, that she's got her back to me and a demon sinking its clawlike nails into her face. _Yes_, I say, trying to project the thought at Terra.

_Good_, Terra says. _Then get ready for all hell to break loose._

I see Terra grab the demon's wrists. Then, in a movement so fast that I almost miss it, Terra flips Ashari over her head and slams the demon onto the floor.

I lose sight of Terra as the seated Guardians rise and surround Darcy, Renna, and I. Darcy doesn't waste any time. She starts to sing, and all four of her butterflies appear, hovering and looking as menacing as it's possible for butterflies to look.

One of the Guardians makes the mistake of snickering at Darcy's elemental animals. Darcy glares at him, yells, "You think that's funny, you bastard?" and sets two out of four butterflies on him.

I draw my knives, dodging strikes from the Guardians. In this case, their superior numbers work against them, because they're all trying to attack me at once and consequently keep getting in each other's way. I try not to kill them, instead incapacitating them, and all the while I look around for Terra. I finally spot her up on the dais where the three chairs sit, trading strikes with Adrian and Ashari.

Renna, despite being pregnant, seems determined to make each and every Guardian pay for what happened to Ember. Her elemental animals (phoenixes) have been directed to kill, not capture, and whenever a Guardian tries to get close enough to neutralize her, she coolly stabs them with the kitchen knife that she stole off of Darcy. In Renna's eyes, it's not murder, it's retribution - and I know this because I have a general sense of both Renna and Darcy's emotions. It's only Terra's that are missing.

_She's shutting you out_, Renna says. _She doesn't want you to see inside her mind. Oh, and in about three seconds, a large hairy man is going to try to disembowel you_.

Renna's prediction comes true, and I soon have my hands full with the new opponent, who seems to be part bear with all the strength thereof. His hand, the size and shape of a war club, comes out of nowhere and wraps itself around my throat, and it's only by repeatedly kicking him in the groin and slicing open his arm from wrist to shoulder that I free myself. He drops me, howling, and I roll away, knocking the legs out from under several other Guardians in the process.

_Why is she shutting me out? _I ask Renna as I clamber back to my feet.

_You distract her_, Renna says. A Guardian comes up behind her and I start to shout a warning, but Renna turns and stabs him in the chest. Kicking his body away, she adds, _And she can't afford distractions fighting Adrian. He taught her everything she knows_.

_You seem remarkably calm about all this_, I note. I glance over my shoulder at Darcy, who is supervising the slow strangulation of several Guardians caught in a vortex.

Renna stands still and looks at me. Those golden eyes are disquieting, and I get the feeling that she sees and knows a lot more than one might expect_. I stopped getting upset about the future when I realized I couldn't change it_, she says.

_Then who can? _I ask. Up on the dais, Terra takes a hit from the hilt of Adrian's sword and drops to one knee. A trail of blood runs out of the corner of her mouth, but she still gazes up at Adrian, defiance written on every inch of her beautiful face.

_You_, Renna says. Something explodes behind her, a wave of heat rushes past her and ripples her hair, but she doesn't flinch. _And Terra. I suggest you go help her now_.

Adrian is raising his sword, to strike at Terra and cut her in two. Behind where Terra kneels, Ashari lifts the Soul-Reaver, prepared to do the same. I have no time to block the twin strikes, or even to attack them. Instead, I run and throw myself at Terra, tackling her and sending the both of us falling and rolling off the far edge of the dais, out of range.

Terra lies still beside me, and for a horrible moment I think she's dead. Then she opens both eyes and says in a dry voice, "That's the second time today you've fallen on me, Loki. It's becoming a habit."

"I wouldn't call it falling on you," I say. "More like…saving your life."

I think it's obvious to both of us what almost happened. Terra sits up. She still has both her knives and the Soul-Reaver dagger, and it's a miracle that I wasn't impaled either of the times I've fallen on her. The trickle of blood from her mouth has turned into a stream, and before I can stop myself, I reach out and wipe it away.

"Are you all right?" I ask hastily, withdrawing my hand.

"I'm fine; I just bit my tongue," Terra says. She spits out a mouthful of blood. "Are they still up there?"

I listen, and so does Terra. Above the sounds of battle, I can hear Adrian berating Ashari. Through the streams of colorful invective, I discern the underlying problem; Ashari's strike with the Soul-Reaver hit Adrian's sword and shattered the blade. "Yes."

"Good," Terra says. She struggles to her feet, sways back and forth like a drunk person, and rights herself. "Are you coming with me?"

"Of course," I say. I scale the platform and reach down to help Terra up. At the sight of us, Adrian turns and charges. Ashari, however, just watches, twirling the Soul-Reaver like a baton.

"Can't do much with a broken sword, can you, Adrian?" Terra says as Adrian slices at her legs. She brings up one boot and steps on the broken blade, pinning it with all her weight. Adrian bends down, trying to free it, and she kicks him in the face with her other foot.

"I think you broke his nose," I observe as an unconscious Adrian reels backwards.

"Oh, no, I think you're right," Terra says with a phony gasp. "His good looks will be ruined!"

At that she bursts out laughing, and to my surprise, so does Ashari. Tears of mirth run from the demon's Chaos-red eyes.

"What's so funny?" Terra challenges, stepping toward Ashari and spitting out another mouthful of blood. "You're next."

"Am I?" Ashari says, still giggling. "I don't think so."

And her form begins to fray at the edges, like a cloth when you pull the loose string. Demons have the ability to shift between realms, so Ashari's likely to get off free. That doesn't sit well with me - or Terra, for that matter - and we both hurl weapons at her. For some reason, perhaps because I threw it harder, my throwing star slides through the gap after Ashari, while Terra's knife falls short as the rift slams shut.

Terra picks up her knife. "I think you hit her, Loki. The throwing star's an inanimate object; it can't travel through the rifts unless it's attached to something living."

Terra still seems unsteady on her feet. I can't see an explanation for this - while there are numerous bleeding cuts on her face, none of them are large enough to justify dizziness from blood loss. Either she's shaky for a different reason, or she has a larger injury that I don't know about.

A high scream rises from the floor, and Terra and I spin around. Darcy is in trouble. Trapped by Guardians on all sides, someone holds a knife to her throat. Renna is the closest, but she can't reach Darcy through the solid mass of Guardians between them.

"Don't hurt her," Terra says. "This isn't about her, Lethe. Let Darcy go."

I take a second look and realize that yes, it is Lethe who's taken Darcy hostage. The river goddess's face is perfectly still and calm as she presses the knife against Darcy's skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Give up, Terra," Lethe advises. "Unless you surrender now, I will kill her."

_Don't do it_, Renna says.

_I won't_.

Without taking her eyes from her mother, Terra opens her hands and lets her knives drop to the ground. "I didn't want to do this, but I don't have a choice," Terra says. Then she raises her voice and yells, "Now would be a great time for you to help us!"

For a moment nothing happens. Then I see the figures walking through the door, rank upon rank of them. As one, they lift their heads and begin to sing.

"The Sirens!" yells one of the Guardians, and all hell breaks loose for the second time. The momentary standoff is over, and Lethe hurls Darcy away from her as a massive fiery lioness bears down on her. Renna hauls Darcy to her feet and both of them run to join the group of Sirens, adding their voices to the song.

Terra winces. "They're a bit sharp, don't you think?"

"Is that all you can think about?" I say.

Terra laughs. "No, it was just an observation. Keep an eye on Lethe for me. It's not over yet."

Terra leaps off the dais and runs into the fray, several dragons appearing alongside her. I turn my eyes to the fight, looking for Lethe, and I think I catch sight of her by one wall. But before I can point this out to anyone else, a broken sword slashes down at my shoulder. I dodge out of the way just in time, and find a bloody-faced Adrian snarling at me.

Did I mention how much I despise him?

He raises the sword to swing again, and I duck beneath the strike, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until he's forced to drop the weapon.

"What do you think you're doing?" Adrian hisses at me. He lashes out with his free hand and hits me in the stomach. "Do you honestly think you're going to be some sort of hero to Terra?"

"I'm not the hero type," I say. Adrian is two inches taller and probably thirty pounds of muscle heavier than me, but that isn't a problem. I've spent my life fighting people like him.

He laughs coldly. "She doesn't care about you," he says. "The Dragon Princess doesn't give a damn about anyone else. You think she's thankful to you for saving her life? Think again - it's the least she expects."

_Don't listen to him_, Renna snarls over the mental link. _It's the Chaos in him; he's going after your fears, trying to find something he can use to bring you down. Don't let him have it!_

"I don't believe you," I say. If Terra were what he describes her as, she never would have helped me when I first arrived here or protected me during the fight with the Titans. When I tried to leave, humiliated that she saw my Frost Giant form, she wouldn't have tried to talk me out of it. Whether or not Terra feels anything for me, she isn't the callous monster in the picture Adrian paints.

"Believe what you will," Adrian says. "It's the truth. She betrayed me; and she'll betray you just as fast!"

"Hey, you with the knives!" someone yells. "Duck!"

Not one to question this, I flatten out on the floor as a copper-haired woman riding an emerald-green tiger leaps onto the dais. "Take this, you asshole!" she says, hurling what looks to be a small bomb at Adrian. He dives to the side and I lose sight of him.

The explosion that follows is colossal, and it sends me flying. I hit the ground hard and bounce a couple times, and I would probably have kept bouncing if not for the tiger stopping me with a paw.

"You all right, cutie?" the woman asks. She speaks with a bizarre, twanging accent.

"I'm fine," I say.

"Good," the Siren says. "Terra would have had my head if anything happened to you."

At this moment, a series of small staccato explosions begins, and a Siren screams. Terra's voice comes over the mental link. _Since when did the Guardians start using guns?_

_Since you took out all their guards from fifty feet during your last escape_, Renna answers. _They've modernized_.

_Lovely_, Terra mutters. _Loki, have you seen Lethe?_

_No_. With the distraction of Adrian, I've lost sight of the river goddess. I retreat to one of the walls, overturn a bench to use as cover, and scan the crowd in search of the Lady of Loss. The tide of battle could go either way at this point, for all but the dead or mortally injured Guardians are still able to fire their guns - while the Sirens' elemental animals cannot be killed. Whatever Lethe is planning could turn the battle into a Guardian victory.

Finally, I see Lethe. The river goddess is standing on the remains of the dais, her arms bent at the elbows, palms facing the ceiling, eyes closed. Her lips are moving, but I can't quite hear what she's saying. It seems like an odd thing for Lethe to be doing; staying out of the fight, chanting to herself, when her participation could win the battle. Does she have some sort of plan?

My mind runs through the options. Maybe she has no plan, and she's just trying to intimidate everyone into retreating. Or perhaps she does have a plan, but it isn't succeeding. As I watch Lethe, a slow smile curves her lips. She does have a plan, I decide. And it's working.

I happen to glance downward, and I see a thin rivulet of silver liquid dripping from a crack in the wall. Water from Lethe's river - and suddenly, I know what she's doing. Lethe knows that capturing Terra now is hopeless, because she never expected her daughter to order the Sirens into battle. So rather than capture Terra, she plans to erase the memories of everyone in the chamber and bring them all under her control.

I yank a coat off a dead Guardian and stuff it into the crack, hoping it will stem the flow of water for at least a moment. Then I tug a throwing star off my belt and hurl it at Lethe. The silver metal wedges into her shoulder and she staggers, but the chanting doesn't stop. And now I can see more river water, pooling around Lethe's feet, dripping down onto the main floor of the chamber.

"Terra!" I yell with both my mind and my voice. Her head snaps around, and she stares at me, her eyebrows raised.

_What?_

"The river!" I say, hoping she'll understand.

Terra's eyes widen, and she looks from me, to Lethe, to the water rising through rifts in the Nine Worlds from the river of oblivion. Her eyes move back to me, and her face sets into the same smooth mask that both she and Lethe seem to be able create at will.

_Fall back_, Terra orders the Sirens. _Grab the wounded, leave the dead, and get the hell out of here. Now!_

The Sirens scramble to follow the orders of their Princess, but Terra doesn't make for the door like everyone else. She wades through the fight, helps injured Sirens to their feet, shoves them through the gap where the door used to be. And then, when most of them are outside, she walks slowly toward the ruins of the dais and her mother, calling all four dragons to her.

Terra stands still, eyes open, palms facing the ceiling, an eerie mirror of her mother. And she begins to sing. Her voice rises and falls over the clamor of battle and gunshots, carries and rings off the stone walls. When I asked Terra about her voice, weeks ago, she told the truth in her answer. Among the Sirens, there are certainly better voices than hers, but there's something about the sound of Terra's voice that is impossible to resist. Something that's rough and sometimes sad, sometimes happy. But undeniably real.

The river water coats the remains of the dais now, but it stops at the tip of Terra's boots, as though there's a wall preventing it from spreading further. Lethe's eyes open, and she begins to chant with new intensity. The water level rises, and continues to rise, until it reaches above Terra's head in one smooth, silver mass.

Beads of sweat stand out on Terra's forehead and her face is pale and drawn. I can see the muscles in her legs shaking; it's obviously taking her enormous effort to contain Lethe's river.

A Guardian, bleeding from a dagger wound in his chest, reaches for his gun and raises it, pointing the weapon at Terra. He's going to shoot her. Automatically, with no hesitation, I run. Not toward the Guardian, but putting myself directly between Terra and the weapon that threatens to end her life. The Guardian fires the gun.

I take the shot on my left, low on my torso. I think it passes through my body cleanly, but I can't be trusted on this matter. It feels like my guts are on fire, and I stagger sideways. The Guardian collapses - to shoot at Terra must have taken the last of his strength - and Terra continues to sing, keeping the shield between herself and the river intact.

In hindsight, I reflect as I wrap a dead Guardian's cloak around myself to hide the wound, it was the only choice I could have made. If Terra had been shot, even superficially, it would have broken her concentration, and by extent, the shield. By taking the bullet for Terra, I essentially saved us all. But that's not what I was thinking of when I did it. All I was thinking of was Terra.

_Loki_, Renna calls. She's kneeling by two injured Sirens. _Help me get them out of here - I can't move them on my own_.

I go to Renna, help the Sirens to their feet, and head for the door. And all the while, Terra's singing and Lethe's chanting collide against each other, creating a cacophony unlike any I've ever heard. I'm dripping blood on the floor from the gunshot wound in my side, but with the two injured Sirens, one of whom has a massive gash on her head, no one notices.

Once we're outside the chamber, I pause by the wall, pressing one hand against the wound. For some reason, I'm finding it hard to breathe. All I want to do is rest, just sink down to the floor and sleep for awhile. And then I hear Renna say, "Seal it off."

Several Sirens step forward, singing, and a wall of stone begins to rise across the place where the door used to be. I race forward and grab Renna by the shoulder, spinning her around to face me. "What in the Nine Worlds are you doing?"

"Following the orders of my Princess," Renna says. "She told us to seal the door."

"Are you mad?" I say. "How is she going to get out?"

"Loki," Renna says, placing a hand on my arm. I know what she's going to say, but I can't hear it. I won't hear it. "She's not coming out. As soon as the door is sealed, Terra is going to let the river go."

"No," I say. "No!"

_Listen to me_, Terra says. Her voice is tinged with exhaustion, but there's no mistaking the determination. _There's a chance I'll be all right. Since I'm her daughter, I might be immune to the touch of the water. I might only lose my memories if I drink it. So as long as I keep my mouth shut, I should be fine_.

_You don't know that_, I say.

_Yeah, I don't_, Terra says. _But this way, if I'm wrong, it only hurts me. Not you_.

The rising stone crashes against the top of the doorway and fuses with the ceiling. The Sirens step back, their work done, having sealed their Princess into a stone tomb. I can tell by their faces that this is one order they wish they could disobey, but they can't. Terra's word, to them, is law.

_Goodbye, Loki_, Terra says, and then there's a roaring crash from inside the chamber as she lets the river go.

"No!" I yell, and smash my hands against the unyielding stone filling the doorway. In addition to tearing my hands up, it exacerbates the pain from the wound in my side, and it's all I can do not to collapse. More blood drips onto the floor, but with the possibility that Terra's just had her memories wiped, no one's paying attention to me.

There's no sound from inside the chamber. Even with my enhanced hearing, I can't detect the sound of breathing. I press my ear against the rough stone, listening for any sign of life, any sign that someone is awake and moving inside. And then I hear the footsteps.

"Back up," Renna says. She grabs my arm and pulls me away from the newly created stone wall. We all watch as a spiderweb of cracks appears in the stone, all of us hoping against hope that the person who emerges is the Dragon Princess, and that she still has her memories.

A human-sized and shaped portion of the stone explodes outwards, showering the group with dust. And then a soaking wet, exhausted, bleeding Terra steps through.

"Sorry about the drama, everybody," she says, giving her head a shake and sending droplets of river water flying. One lands on the toe of Darcy's high-heeled boot, and the Butterfly of Death leaps backwards and starts to shriek.

"Terra, are you all right?" Renna asks, looking as though she hardly dares to believe her luck. "Is anyone else in there?"

"I'm fine," Terra says. "And no, there's no one inside the chamber but a couple hundred Guardians who are busy trying to remember what color the sky is. Lethe grabbed Adrian and cleared off as soon as she realized that I wasn't brain-dead."

I start toward Terra, to - hold her? Kiss her? Tell her that she shouldn't ever scare me like that again? I don't know, but it doesn't matter, because Renna pulls me back. "Somebody dry Terra off before she mind-wipes the lot of us."

Several Sirens summon their fire animals and the creatures exhale over Terra, evaporating the last traces of river water. Meanwhile, I'm starting to feel somewhat lightheaded. I'm not stupid; I know the feeling comes from blood loss, but there are people who are badly injured, maybe dying, and I'm not one of them. I should keep my mouth shut.

The Sirens begin to move uncertainly back through the tunnels, up into the city. It's full dark by now, and the lights of the city are even brighter against the background of night. Terra sets about organizing everyone into groups to travel back to New Mexico, and appoints Darcy to lead the groups home. When Renna is the only one left, Terra starts wandering off down the street.

"Where are you going?" Renna asks.

"I've got to walk," Terra says. "Just because I've still got my memories doesn't mean I'm not looped out from my own mother trying to drown me."

Renna, who's known Terra for far longer than I have, looks to me and raises one eyebrow. I shrug in response. Even on my best day, interpreting Terra's behavior is hard enough, and right now, I'm so dizzy that it's impossible to concentrate. So I just focus on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling over or weaving excessively across the sidewalk. Strangely, I'm starting to feel cold. I don't remember feeling cold ever before.

"Does it feel cold to you?" I ask Renna.

"No," Renna says. "In fact, it's entirely too hot and humid. Gods, I hate summer!"

A few steps ahead of me, Terra stops walking. This annoys most of the other people - we've entered a populated area - and they mutter things under their breath. Terra makes an impatient shooing motion at them with her hand and says, "Loki, are you okay?"

"I feel dizzy," I say, and then remember that I wasn't going to tell anyone about it. Oh, well. In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose, and I add, "And cold."

I think Terra looks worried, but it's hard to tell through the mask of dried blood on her face. She's attracting stares from passerby. "Loki, are you hurt?"

"Not badly," I say, but then I ruin what I think must have been a credible denial when I tilt sideways and fall to the ground.

Terra is at my side in an instant, and farther away, I can see Renna's concerned face. "Loki, what is it? What's wrong?"

I have the vague feeling that Terra's questions are important, but I can't find the energy to answer them. Everything seems cold, and it's as though I'm viewing Terra and the whole scene from far away.

"Don't do this," Terra says. "Stay here!"

I want to tell her yes, I will stay, but that would make me a liar, and I don't want to lie to Terra. So instead I shut my eyes.


	12. Wayfaring Stranger

New chapter. Thanks to Furionknight and Rin () for the lovely reviews. Oh, and a note - if any of you are artistically gifted and wish to draw characters and/or events from the story, feel free. Just make sure to send me the link so I can ooh and aah over your wonderful work. All right, here we go.

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><p>Terra:<p>

No.

No, no, no! Not now, not when I finally thought everything was going to be all right. I could kick myself for not noticing it sooner; how Loki was weaving along the sidewalk like a drunken person, how he was complaining about being cold, how confused and scattered his speech patterns became. All the signs of drastic blood loss were there, and somehow I missed them!

"Come on, Loki, wake up!" I plead, kneeling on the pavement beside him. But his eyes remain closed and his face is as still as if it were carved from ice. It takes very little imagination on my part to believe that he's dead, and in order to reassure myself that this isn't the case, I touch the side of his neck, searching for a pulse. It's there, still, but that brings me no comfort; his heartbeat is too fast and entirely too weak.

I look up at Renna, who's come closer. "What happened to him? I didn't see him get slashed…"

"He wasn't slashed, Terra," Renna says. She kneels beside Loki as well and unwraps the Guardian cloak he's tied around himself. Beneath it, his shirt and torso are soaked with blood. At the center of the red bloom is a small wound, too small to have come from a sword strike or even a knife stab. "He was shot."

Shot? How? Loki is too smart and too fast to be shot; in my opinion, the only people who would have a chance of hurting him are Lethe, Ashari, and Adrian, and none of them were carrying guns. I can't believe that an ordinary Guardian could seriously wound Loki, unless there was something else distracting him. Something like my stupid order to keep an eye on Lethe.

"We've got to get him back to New Mexico," I say, lifting Loki into a sitting position. His head lolls limply back and forth, and it takes every ounce of my considerable self-control not to panic. "He needs a doctor -"

"He won't survive the flight, Terra, and you know it," Renna says. She's right. I do know it. And slowly, I let Loki slide back to the pavement. The motion, even though I initiated it, has started a fresh flow of blood from the wound. I know there's something I'm supposed to be doing now, but I can't remember what it is. My mind's gone completely blank.

"Here," Renna says, and before I can blink she's ripped a swatch of fabric off the back of my shirt. She hands it to me. "Press on the wound, try and get it to stop bleeding at least a little."

"All right," I say, doing as she says. I note with some irony that Renna, who at the beginning of all this was completely out of her head with grief, is now the calmest and most centered among us.

A crowd has gathered around us - mostly club kids who are; a) already stoned/drunk and getting some fresh air to clear their heads, or b) not yet stoned/drunk and on their way to a party. The stoned ones probably think that this is a hallucination, but the not-stoned ones are regarding us with a mixture of interest and suspicion. One girl has her phone out and is cautiously taking a picture.

Renna sees this, and her mouth tightens into a thin line. She stands up and snatches the phone out of the girl's hand. "Give me that."

The girl begins to sputter protests, and a boy who looks to be her boyfriend steps forward, glaring at Renna. Renna can glare with the best of them, so she glares right back, and the boyfriend notices her bright golden eyes. "You really don't want to mess with me," Renna says. She can glare with the best of them.

The boy wisely backs off, and Renna flips open the phone to dial 911. She listens for a moment (911, please state your emergency) and explains the situation. Then she kneels down beside me again and rips another piece of fabric off my shirt; the one I'm currently using is soaked with blood already.

"There's an ambulance coming," Renna says. "Loki's going to the hospital."

"The hospital?" I say, gaping at Renna. "We can't stay in New York overnight! The Guardians -"

"Have bigger things to worry about, considering that you just mind-wiped at least half of them," Renna says, cutting me off. "We won't be hunted tonight."

"Are you sure?" I say. 'Are you sure?' is code for, _Did you see this in the future or is it just an educated guess?_

"I'm sure," Renna says. "No one will be coming after us for at least two days. That's how long it will take Lethe to either restore their memories or brainwash the rest of them."

Renna isn't always certain of the future, and sometime she can see multiple paths. In this case, it involves Lethe's next decision; whether to return the mind-wiped Guardians to their former state or to mind-wipe the rest of them and get herself a well-trained, fully armed fighting force. I harbor no illusions as to my mother's latent goodness - as far as I'm concerned, she's evil to the core. It wouldn't surprise me at all if she took control of the Guardians, but I'm hoping she doesn't. Not because I have faith that she's a good person deep down inside, because if she does, she won't be as easy to ignore.

The ambulance screams around the corner and skids to a stop, lights flashing and sirens blaring, startling me out of my thoughts. Paramedics leap out and dash toward us, and Renna has to tug me out of the way before they run me over with a gurney. They're yelling out medical terms - a long string of numbers that I think is Loki's pulse rate, and one of them keeps saying _hypovolemic shock. _I know what hypovolemic shock is, because I've gone into it twice. It's when blood loss is so significant that the heart is unable to pump enough blood to the brain. It means that your body is starting to shut down for good.

"Terra, come on!" Renna grabs my wrist and tows me into the ambulance after Loki's stretcher. When the paramedics don't protest, I'm elated - until I realize that the only reason they're not throwing a fit about my and Renna's presence in the ambulance is because they think we're injured, too.

"Get away from me, you stupid cow!" I yell as a paramedic starts examining me. "I'm fine! Forget about me - help him!"

I point at Loki, who's wearing an oxygen mask. The paramedics have stripped off his shirt for better access to the wound, and I can barely see him as they bustle around, taking blood pressure and pulse and temperature.

"We are," the woman soothes, completely unfazed by my rudeness. "But you're hurt, too. What happened to your cheek?"

I go completely mute, and glare at her. I am absolutely all right. There's nothing wrong with me right now that can't be fixed later. I'm not the one who might die.

I spend the rest of the ride to the hospital in silence, running the events of tonight, and especially the battle in the Guardian stronghold, over and over in my head. What could I have done to keep Loki safe? Should I have kept an eye out for Lethe myself? No; when you only have one good eye, that's too dangerous. Ordered the Sirens to watch over him? I did that, but my order to fall back superseded the previous one. That means that Loki's injury must have occurred between my order to retreat and the sealing of the door.

"You couldn't have done anything," Renna says as they unload Loki's stretcher from the ambulance. "If you'd let the river go, we all would have had our minds wiped. You did the right thing."

"If I did the right thing," I say, "why do I feel like I've screwed up?"

The paramedics have transferred Loki onto a gurney, and they wheel it past us at top speed, toward the operating rooms. I watch him go, and even after he's gone, I still keep staring at the door they took him through, wondering if I'm ever going to see him alive again.

"It's all right," Renna says, putting a soothing hand on my shoulder. "It's going to be all right, Terra."

It hits me how wrong this is. Tonight, Renna lost her soul mate. Ember is dead and gone, and yet she's the one comforting me. Loki and I aren't even in a relationship, and yet I'm freaking out as though it's my soul mate who might be dying in the operating room. Compared to Renna, I've lost nothing, but I have the audacity to be sad in the same world as she is.

"It's all right," Renna repeats when I start to apologize. "There's a difference, Terra, between knowing someone is gone and being unsure if they're still alive. I know Ember is dead, and it hurts like hell, but I also know that he's not coming back. You don't know whether you'll ever see Loki again, and that uncertainty must be agony."

I start to hyperventilate at the thought of never seeing Loki again - which I find so humiliating that I vow immediately to never do it again even if the world's on fire - and the other people in the ER start to stare at me with concern. Renna looks alarmed by my sudden turn for the worse, and she starts hissing instructions in my ear.

"Breathe deeply," she orders, and my ridiculously fast breathing becomes interspersed with hysterical squeaks of laughter. Telling someone who's hyperventilating to breathe deeply is like telling a drowning person to swim. It's what I'm trying to do - it's just that my body isn't cooperating.

Renna's lips quirk upward. "Okay," she says. "Stupid thing to say, I know. I'll try again; remember the first song you sang at the funeral?"

Of course I remember. I sang at the funeral of my parents and brother, three songs; a song that none of them had particularly enjoyed in life but swore they liked to hear in my voice, a song that always made my parents cry, and a song that I'd grown up hearing. By the end of that last song, I was crying so hard that I barely got the notes out.

The song Renna is reminding me of is the first one, an old hymn called 'Leaning on the Everlasting Arms'. I've always liked it - it sits perfectly in my range - and hearing it always calms me down, the same way that flying tends to put me at ease.

"Why don't you say it," Renna says. "You don't have to sing, just recite the words and see if it helps."

_Nothing ventured, nothing gained_, I think, and say, "What a fellowship -" pause for a gasp of air "- what a joy divine, leaning on -" breathe in and out, Terra, it's not that hard "- the everlasting arms…"

As I gasp for breath again, an old woman across the waiting room from us sings in a quavering voice, "What a blessedness, what a peace is mine, leaning on the everlasting arms."

At the sound of the notes, I can feel myself start to relax, and the panicked spasms that overtook me fade away. By the time the final verse rolls around, I'm singing along with Renna, the old woman, and one of the nurses at the nurses' station and feeling a little better. At least I'm not wheezing like a smoker who's just run a marathon any longer. And that's when the nurse comes out of the operating room, still wearing her scrubs, and makes a beeline for Renna and I.

"Are you the ones that brought in the man with the gunshot wound?" she says directly.

"Yeah, that's us," I say. "What's going on?"

Immediately after I say that, it occurs to me what might be going on, and my breathing hitches. Renna notices this, gives me a sharp pinch, and hisses, "Don't you dare!"

"He's not dead, but he's lost too much blood," the nurse says bluntly. "We're trying to match his blood type, but there's an unusual factor in his blood that isn't present in our blood bank. I need to test your blood to see if you have it as well."

Renna and I glance at each other. We both have the factor, yes; it's known as the i-factor in Guardian speak. I for immortal, of course. This is why immortals can't go to the hospital. If one nosy doctor pokes around too much, it could blow every other immortal's cover to Chaos. But Loki might be dying, and we've got no choice.

"You can test our blood," Renna says. I send her a silent thank-you.

The nurse proceeds to jab my finger with a needle and examine the blood under a microscope. She does the same to Renna, and looks up, smiling.

"You both have the factor, so you can donate," the nurse says. She turns to Renna. "Get ready to give him a transfusion. Do you have any preexisting medical conditions?"

"Hey," I say. "Why can't I do it?"

"Because you've already lost too much blood from those gouges on your face," says the nurse.

"I can't donate," Renna says. "If you count being pregnant as a medical condition."

"You're pregnant?" the nurse says, glancing skeptically at Renna, who is ridiculously slender.

"It's early," Renna says in a tone that leaves no space for argument. "Take Terra. She can donate."

I'm towed off without delay to a room where the nurse inserts two needles into the crooks of my arms and draws two pints of blood. "Ordinarily, we wouldn't take so much, and we'd test your iron levels first," she says, "but under the circumstances, there's no time. Are you dating the man who was shot, or -"

"I'm not dating him," I say woozily. "We're just friends."

"Well, you might have just saved his life," the nurse says, but the patronizing smile on her face suggests that she thinks that Loki and I are together. An orderly appears and takes the blood away, down to the operating room, and I get up and stagger back into the ER waiting room.

Renna's sitting exactly where I left her, and she glances up as I sit down in the chair next to her. "You missed the interrogation," she says. "A couple of police officers came in here; wanted to know if Loki was the one who messed up your face and if that's why you shot him."

"They think I shot him?" I say, my mouth dropping open.

"Not only that," Renna says, snickering, "they think he's your boyfriend and that he abuses you!"

At that I burst out laughing, and so does Renna. It feels odd to laugh, like it's not quite appropriate given the situation. Then my cell phone rings.

A word about my cell phone; I never use it. I never even take it out of my back pocket, and I'm sure it's been through the wash about ten times by now - not to mention getting drenched in water from the river of oblivion. All my friends know never to call it, because I'll only answer the phone if it's in the pocket of the pants I'm currently wearing. After the events of tonight, I'm shocked it's still working. The caller id says _the house_, rather than home.

I answer the phone. "What?"

"Where the hell are you?" explodes Darcy. "We flew back, and I kept telling everyone that you were right behind us, and now it's been two hours, and Jane's freaking out, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is banging down the door, and we've got three people with life-threatening injuries including our only healer!"

"I'm still in New York," I say when Darcy pauses for breath. "Don't let S.H.I.E.L.D in, and if they don't leave when you ask nicely, set some elementals on them. The reason we aren't back yet is because Loki got shot during the retreat and we had to take him to the hospital."

"Okay," Darcy says. "How long until you're back here?"

"I don't know," I say. "I'll be back when I'm back, okay? I'll try and hurry. And you might want to check and make sure Joy's injuries are really life-threatening. She's a bleeder, and she's got a healthy sense of the dramatic."

"All right," Darcy says. Then I hear her yelling, "Hey, Joy, Terra says to quit screwing around and help some people!"

Joy's response is lost as Darcy comes back on the line. "I told her," she says. "Now stay in New York as long as you need, and bring Loki back safe, okay? We've all gotten attached to him."

I sit up straight - _who's attached to Loki? I'll rip their heads off _- and say, "What do you mean?"

"Ooh, somebody's jealous," Darcy says. My response was completely neutral, but that doesn't matter - my tone of voice said it all. "You're attached to Loki, so we all are, too. That's the way it works. Except we don't feel quite as strongly about it as you do, thank God."

I'm trying to puzzle that out when the same nurse from before comes out of the operating room. I say a quick goodbye to Darcy, hang up the phone, and turn to the nurse.

"Your friend is out of surgery," she says. "He's still in intensive care, though. I'll give you the room number; you can visit him if you like."

It's all I can do not to run up the stairs, but the nurse insists that I shouldn't be running after donating two pints of blood. So I'm stuck in the elevator as it slowly climbs two floors to the ICU. As soon as the doors open, I dart out and run down the hall, weaving back and forth like a drunk because the loss of two pints of blood is no small matter, and I skid to a stop outside the door.

I wonder if I should knock. Then I decide that now is not the time to get good manners, and I open the door.

Loki is asleep on the bed, with monitors hooked up to him, measuring his breathing and his blood pressure and his heartbeat. There's an I.V. in his left arm, and another in his right, transferring the blood I donated into his body. His skin is incredibly pale, and he's wearing one of those horrible hospital gowns with blue flowers. I can see the outline of bandages through the thin fabric.

"He looks like death warmed over," I mutter, masking my worry.

"No, Terra, that's what you looked like after your last fight with Ashari," Renna corrects, not fooled in the slightest and trying to cheer me up. "Compared to that, he's doing great."

There's a chair beside the bed. I sit down in it and wonder what I should do. In movies, people always hold the injured person's hand, but I'm not the hand-holding type. I suppose I could cry, but I haven't cried since my family's funeral and I've got no intention of starting now. So instead I just watch the heart monitor and make up a rhythm out of the little blips and spikes, and the soft beeping from the machine that tells me Loki's still alive.

Suddenly, Renna's at my side. "Oh, no," she whispers. "Oh no, oh no, oh no!"

She's seen something awful, that much I can tell straight off. But before I can ask what it is, the green line on the heart monitor goes flat. For one second, there's a horrible silence. And then nurses and doctors flood into the room, and Renna pulls me out of the way.

Renna and I stay pressed up against the wall as the doctors surround Loki, hollering medical terms. I want to scream at them to speak English and tell me what's happening, but the horrified look on Renna's face tells me more than the doctors ever could. Loki is dying.

"No," I say, "don't do this. Please - I'll do anything! Just let him stay."

I don't know who or what I'm talking to - probably just the random Fates - but it doesn't matter. I'm begging to whoever might be in charge for them to let Loki live. I watch as the doctors shock Loki with defibrillator paddles. His body jerks in response, but the line on the heart monitor remains stubbornly horizontal.

"Do you want to save Loki?" Renna asks me, golden eyes intense.

"Yes!" I say. And suddenly Renna's hands grip my throat, her thumbs pressing down on my carotid artery. I remember this trick - it's guaranteed to knock someone unconscious in ten seconds - and I also remember that I was the one who taught it to her. I told her, laughingly, not to ever use it on me, and her response had been just a little creepy.

"I won't unless I have to," she said. And at the time, I discounted it. It was before I knew Renna was a Watcher, and I thought she just had a screw loose.

My vision is fuzzy at the edges, the blackness creeping closer in. "Go," Renna tells me. "Bring him back from the twilight. Only you can do this. And remember; he must not cross the fourth river!"

My vision goes black, and when it returns, I know that I'm dreaming. Because the place I'm standing isn't one you can visit in person. It's a darkened shore, with willows and poplar trees woven with mist. A few feet away from me, a viscous silver river flows silently past. This is the River Lethe, my mother's river, the last of four gateways to the land of the dead. If I squint, I can just make out the fiery glow of the River Phlegethon in the distance, far back behind me.

This is how it works in what's known as the twilight, the space between life and death; at each of the four rivers, you must give up something of your life in order to pass. For the first river, the River Styx, the god demands your hate. Give that up, and he'll ferry you across. The second river, Acheron, requires only your sadness. The third, Phlegethon, river of fire, calls for rage as his toll. And last, at the River Lethe, you give up your memories and enter the realm of the dead.

The irony of this is that, at each river you pass, it becomes harder and harder to return yourself to life and leave the twilight. It can still be done, of course - as long as you don't cross the River Lethe, you can still come back to life. But if you give up your memories to Lethe, you can't. You wouldn't even remember why you had to return.

In my dream, I'm searching for someone. Loki, I think. I have to stop him from crossing the fourth river. But where the hell is he?

At last I spot the Trickster, wandering aimlessly along the bank. I call his name, but fingers of mist snatch the words from my mouth. So I run down the riverbank after him, fully aware that, for a girl who says (okay, pretends) that she doesn't give a damn about him, I spend a ridiculous amount of time chasing after this man. I tap him on the shoulder, he looks up, and for one horrible moment, I think he doesn't recognize me and I'm too late.

Then Loki's expression clears. "Hello, Terra," he says, smiling. I get the feeling that he's happy to see me. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you here. You always appear when I'm about to die."

This statement is so confusing that I don't even bother wondering what he means by it. "Yeah, well, you're not going to die. Not unless" - here a disturbing thought occurs to me - "you want to."

"I don't," Loki says, "but I'm tired, Terra."

"You think I'm going to let you just quit because you're tired?" I say.

"Listen to me, Terra," Loki says. It's true, he does look - not exhausted, exactly. More world-weary. "The living world, the real world, is full of doubt and uncertainty. I know exactly what waits for me on the other side of this river. Maybe I just want to be sure of something."

"No, _you_ listen, Loki," I say, "the only thing you can be sure of is that if you cross this river, you're never coming back! I didn't save you and everybody else from Lethe's brainwashing just so you could toss yourself in the river the first chance you got."

Loki sighs. He gazes out at the silver water. "Does it matter if I leave, Terra? Will anyone care? Will you?"

"I will," I say, and I know it's true. I hate voicing it, but it's true that if Loki crosses this river and enters the land of the dead, I will miss him more than anything. "I care if you leave, Loki. You're my friend."

But I'm not sure if the word 'friend' appropriately describes what he is to me. If he were a friend, why would I care so much about what happens to him that I put my Sirens' lives at risk to protect him? If he were a friend, why does it feel as though his death would rip out my heart? If he were a friend, would I be standing at the shore of my mother's river pleading with him to come back? I've had friends die before. And while it hurt to let them go, I've never chased any of them to the River Lethe to try and talk them out of it.

_This is a dream_, I find myself thinking. _And since it's a dream, I can do whatever I want_.

So rather than attempting once again to talk Loki out of crossing the river, I change tactics. Other girls could accomplish this with some poise, some elegance and romance, but I'm not one of them. I place my hands on the sides of Loki's face and stand up on my tiptoes - damn, he's tall - so that we're eye to eye. And then, because I'm a coward even in my dreams and I'm too chicken to do this properly, I kiss his forehead.

Loki blinks, stunned. I don't think that's what he was expecting me to do at all. Then he smiles, and it's like - oh, I don't know. It's beautiful when he smiles, and I wish he'd do it more often. Then, like the think-on-my-feet type I am, I capitalize on my momentary advantage and say, "Are you coming back or not?"

"I am," Loki says, still with that surprised smile on his face. He takes my hand, and we start walking back toward the distant lights of the River Phlegethon. My vision starts to fade again, going back to the blackness, but this time I'm left with a lingering feeling that everything's all right.

When I open my eyes again, I'm leaned up against the wall in Loki's hospital room. The doctors are shocking Loki with the defibrillators one last time in an effort to restart his heart, and this time, he responds. His eyes open, and the steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor starts up again.

"It's going to be all right," says one of the nurses kindly to me. "He'll be fine."

I smile a little, and shut my eyes again. I remember having the strangest dream, about a river and a kiss, but that dream doesn't matter. All that matters is that Loki alive.

"You did it, Terra," Renna says, smiling.

_Did what? _I think, and I fall asleep and back into more pleasant dreams.


	13. Secrets

A/N: Wow, it's been awhile. It appears that little things like school starting and awful sonnets got in the way of updates. Thank you to Beloved Daughter, yumiXjaganshi, Rin (), and Impish Wisdoms for your lovely reviews, and thanks to everyone who added me to various alerts and favorites. Reviews and favorites will always be appreciated here. Onward with the story!

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><p>Loki:<p>

When I wake up, I experience several conflicting feelings. I feel sore, especially on my torso and in the crooks of my arms. I also feel as though I almost did something I would have extremely regretted. And yet, at the same time, I feel so happy that for a few moments I lay still with my eyes shut, grinning like a fool. Then I open my eyes, and stare around in shock.

I'm not in my room at the house - or more accurately, in the chair downstairs opposite Terra's couch that I've been sleeping in lately. Instead I'm in a room painted a sea-green color, with two needles inserted into my arms. When I look down at myself, I realize that I'm wearing what seems to be a dress with blue flowers that's open at the back. But, thank the Fates, I'm still wearing my pants.

For a moment, I can't figure it out. And then it all comes rushing back; the fight in the Guardian stronghold, the rising river, Terra holding back the water, the shot I took for her. The Sirens sealing her inside the chamber, and the moment when she walked out unharmed. What happened next?

I remember collapsing, and nothing else. But then another memory appears, of crossing first a black river, then a gray one, then a river of fire, and finally stopping on the banks of a silver river, with the vague feeling that I should be going the other way. Terra was there, and she wouldn't let me cross. While the pull of the river was strong, Terra refused to let me go. And she kissed me.

Then she asked if I was coming back with her. And I said yes.

There; I have explanations for all three emotions. I feel pain because I was shot, almost-regret because I nearly crossed the river, and happiness because Terra kissed me.

"Don't get too excited," someone says. "She's not going to remember a thing."

I glance over, and see Renna sitting in a chair by the window. Gray light streams in, and as I wake up properly, I can hear the sounds of the city battering against my eardrums.

"Renna?" I say.

She sighs. "Please, Loki, let's dispense with the pleasantries. I know what happened last night when your heart stopped."

"What?" I say.

"You died," Renna says bluntly. "I'm sorry, Loki, but there's no other way to put it. Your heart stopped beating and your soul entered the twilight. So I knocked Terra out and sent her into the twilight after you to bring you back before you crossed the final river. She succeeded, obviously, but she's not going to remember kissing you. Just like she doesn't remember saving you from the black hole that formed when the Bifrost was destroyed."

"Why won't she remember?" I ask.

"Because she's Terra," Renna says with a snort, "and because she's a master of blocking out things she's not ready to deal with. While you might be certain of your feelings for her, she's going to take a little longer to reach that point. You'll just need to be patient."

"How do you know?" I ask, wondering how Renna speak so confidently about my feelings for Terra.

"Because I was reading your mind last night, just like you were reading mine and every other Siren's," Renna says. "I had my suspicions before, but when I was hearing your thoughts it was impossible to ignore. And I've always had a certain sensitivity when it comes to other people's emotions."

I absorb this, and decide that, unless the circumstances are dire, I will never share thoughts with any of the Sirens again. Especially not Renna. Something about the idea of someone who can read both the future and the thoughts of other beings disturbs me.

"If you sent Terra into the twilight to save me," I say slowly, "did you send her to the ruins of the Bifrost as well?"

"No," Renna says. "That wasn't me. That was the Fates."

"The Fates," I repeat incredulously. Then, as I look around the room and realize that the person we're discussing is not present, I say, "Where's Terra?"

"Getting breakfast, because you do not want the oatmeal that the hospital cafeteria makes," Renna says. "She's on her way back now; it'll probably be any -"

The door bangs open and Terra enters, balancing three coffee cups in one hand and a box with donuts in the other.

"You're not going to believe this," she says as she dumps her purchases onto a small table. "I ran into Dash at Krispy Kreme, and he acted like he'd never seen me before. He actually started talking to me about the _weather_. And he tried to kill me last night!"

"It appears that Lethe's mind-wipe has not been rescinded," Renna comments, "although I don't think it was a smart move on her part. Can't you just imagine her holding up a picture of you and trying to teach them about how horrible you are?"

Terra snickers. "I'd rather not."

Then she looks at me. I see that the scratches on her face from Ashari's claws have healed, while the cut on her cheek is covered with a bandage. As she turns away, I note that she's missing several pieces of fabric out of the back of her shirt.

"So, Loki, you've decided to rejoin the living," she says, avoiding my eyes. I see that her cheeks are red. "Good."

Renna shoots me a look that says quite plainly _Don__'__t__push__it_. I ignore her - I've had enough of being ordered around by the Watcher - and I say, "Are you all right?"

"Considering that my night didn't involve a date with a defibrillator," Terra says, still facing away from me, "I'd say I'm fine."

"Oh, for heavens' sake, Terra, turn around," Renna says. "You're acting like a child. What's wrong?"

"I had weird dreams," Terra mutters. Then she gives her head a shake, as though she's trying to clear it, and says, "Who wants donuts?"

While I attempt to feed myself a donut with two needles in my arms - don't laugh, it's harder than it sounds - the Sirens have a one-sided staring match. Renna glares consistently at Terra, while the Dragon Princess chooses instead to look innocently in the opposite direction. Finally, Renna loses her patience.

"This has gone far enough, Terra," she says. "You have to tell him the truth."

Terra laughs. "You think he'd believe it, or even give a damn what's screwed up with me? Hell, no."

Renna grabs me by the wrist and hauls my hand up, the light in the room catching on the gold chain. "Look, Terra, Loki has one, too. You didn't just free yourself that day. This isn't just about you anymore; it's about something bigger."

Terra's mouth drops open. "What? How long have you had that, Loki?"

"For as long as you've known me," I say.

"How did I miss that?" Terra says to herself.

"Because you block things out when you don't want to think about them," Renna says. "Now, here's how I propose we do this. Loki, ask whatever questions you want to Terra. Terra, you answer them with honesty and brevity. All right?"

"All right," Terra snarls at Renna. "You know, I could order you to shut the hell up right now and you'd have to do it."

"That would be abusing your power," Renna comments lightly, not at all bothered. "And you wouldn't do that."

Terra lets out an angry hiss and turns away. Renna looks at me and nods. "Go ahead, Loki."

I try to frame the question correctly, but it comes out sounding rather stupid. Of course, I can't ask the question I really want answered (do you feel anything for me, Terra?) but I go for the next best and say, "What are the chains?"

"They're threads," Terra says. "From the loom of the Fates. Yours - and mine."

The logical progression of this train of thought leads me to, "And why aren't they still in the loom of the Fates?"

"Because I cut mine out, and it somehow affected you, too," Terra says. "You obviously didn't cut yours out, otherwise you'd know what it was."

I can't quite wrap my mind around this concept; the idea that it's possible to remove yourself from the Fates' design. But why would anyone do something like that? The Fates are the one aspect of the cosmos that remain uninfluenced by the battles between Chaos and everyone else, and their word is final. Why anyone would make the perilous journey to the Black City to dispute that, I don't know.

"You think it was a stupid thing to do, don't you?" Terra says. When I don't immediately answer - I'm trying to come up with an appropriate response - she rolls her eyes and says, "Great. Another one who thinks I screwed up."

"I don't think that," I say hurriedly. "I was just wondering why you did it."

"Well, isn't that the million-dollar question?" Terra says. She drops her head into her hands with a sigh. "Where should I start?"

"At the beginning, perhaps," Renna says. "Explain about the balance."

"He probably already knows that," Terra complains. When I shrug, she says, "The balance is just the fundamental balance between Chaos and everything else. Obviously you can't destroy Chaos, so you just have to keep beating it back. It's an ongoing battle. You knew that, right?"

"Yes," I say.

"See? Completely pointless," Terra says. "Anyway, every once in awhile, people are born who can upset the balance between Chaos and everything else. My brother and I were two of them, and the Fates decided that there could only be one person who could unbalance the universe alive at a time. So they set it up so one of us would die. I didn't know about this, but Michael did. And he decided that I should be the one to live."

"Why?"

"Because he'd seen the future," Renna says. "He saw that a time was coming when Terra's power would be needed, so he chose her to survive."

"Unfortunately, in doing that, he also set it up so that I'd destroy the universe," Terra says. "My fate, in the event that I survived the accident, was to be corrupted by Chaos. Like Adrian."

"Really?" I say. It's hard to believe, looking at Terra, that she was destined to destroy the universe. Or, knowing her, that she'd ever willingly turn to Chaos.

"Yeah," Terra says with a shrug. She's being purposely flippant, but I know her well enough to sense the deep pain and betrayal beneath it. "Want to see it?"

"See it?" I say, confused.

"See what would have happened if I hadn't cut myself out," Terra says. "It's still inside the chain, even if it can't happen any longer. So, want to see the end of all things?"

In Asgard, the end of all things is known as Ragnarok. There are prophecies about it, but these are closed to all but the king. I suppose that, during my brief reign as king of Asgard, I could have read these prophecies, but they held no interest for me at the time. More fool me.

"All right," I say.

Terra looks to Renna. "You've already seen it, haven't you?"

Renna nods. Terra holds out her hand to me, yet another echo of our first meeting in the gesture. I place my hand in hers, and she says, "Don't freak out, okay? I don't know what this looks like to other people, but it's entirely possible that it's horrifying."

I nod an affirmative, and Terra brings my hand up to her throat, placing my fingers in contact with the chain.

My eyes snap shut as an image assaults my mind. I've seen this city before - in fact, it's New York, where we are right now - but it's in flames. If I didn't know better, I'd say that Fire Giants had been rampaging through it, but I know that's impossible. Muspell is one of the sealed Realms; the inhabitants can't leave, much less attack Earth.

My field of vision moves, swinging to the side, and I see a seated figure. The figure is female, with short black hair and the sheathed Soul-Reaver strapped across her back. Despite the devastation surrounding her, she sits perfectly still. A mass of fire - stars above, is that a _person_ in flames?- careens past her, but she doesn't move. Again, my vision shifts and zooms in on the seated woman's face. It's Terra. And her eyes are Chaos-red, with the burning city reflected in their scarlet irises.

The image shifts through the Nine Worlds, each falling as Terra walks through them. At times, I think I see things I recognize; the palace in Vanaheim, the tree homes in Alfheim, even the frozen wastelands of Jotunheim. For once they're all the same, falling to floods and fires and destructive storms that flatten mountains before my eyes.

And now Terra is walking into the citadel of Asgard. The door to the throne room swings open at her touch, and she enters to find Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three standing in front of her. Terra's obvious objective is the throne where Odin All-Father sits, but my brother and his cohorts don't intend to let her that far.

For a moment, they seem shocked that this monster, this destroyer, is female. Sif is the first to get over it, and she charges Terra, sword drawn. Terra doesn't even bother to draw the Soul-Reaver in response - instead she slides a knife from its sheath at her belt and buries up to the hilt in Sif's chest. The war goddess falls silently to the floor, and the Warriors Three rush in to take her place.

They meet a similar fate to Sif's, and Thor at last races to fight Terra, the awesome power of the Mjolnir against the deadly force of the Soul-Reaver. Thor strikes, Terra blocks, and as Thor rears back to strike again, Terra disengages the Soul-Reaver and cleaves him in two.

She stalks toward Odin All-Father's throne, the bloody Soul-Reaver shining in her hand.

Odin rises from his throne. "You disgrace your order, your title, and all who have gone before you, Terra Shadowfire."

Terra doesn't answer. She merely keeps walking inexorably toward him. Her eyes seem oddly empty, as though there's nothing behind the Chaos inside her. Odin walks to meet her. I will say this for Odin All-Father - he faces his death with dignity.

"Someday, I hope you will feel the pain of what you have done," he says.

Terra's lips move, but what she says, I can't hear. Then the Soul-Reaver rises, falls, and puts an end to the All-Father, his soul joining the probable thousands of others trapped inside the cursed blade.

That image, of the citadel filled with my slaughtered family members and former friends, remains burned into my mind, but there's one last thing left to see. Terra is standing at the end of the broken Bifrost, her hands stretched out, and one by one, she draws the Nine Worlds together, forcing them into a cataclysmic collision. And then, as the burning, flooded, storm-tossed hulk that was once the cosmos settles, Terra sits down, folds herself into a cross-legged position, and watches with empty eyes.

I open my eyes and pull my hand away from the chain to find Terra looking at me. It's an enormous relief to see that her eyes are their true color, not the red from the image. Still, it's disconcerting to see her after I just watched her destroy the universe.

"What was that?" I gasp out.

"The apocalypse," Terra supplies.

"That won't happen now," Renna says. "At least not in that particular manner. It's entirely possible that there will still be an apocalypse, but it won't be because of Terra."

"Why don't I see something like that when I touch my chain?" I ask, trying to erase the images of destruction from my head.

"Because your fate was to die when the Bifrost broke," Renna says. "As a result, you see nothing."

"How was I freed?"

Terra shrugs. "Don't look at me; I'm just as clueless to that one as you are."

"Your fate and Terra's were intertwined, but never connected," Renna says. "Even though you were never to meet, what one of you did affected the other, and when Terra cut her thread, she accidentally cut yours, too."

"Sorry," Terra apologizes.

"Don't be sorry," I say. "I prefer having no fate to being dead."

Terra looks at Renna. "So how does this relate to anything, Renna? What do Loki and I have to do with the fight against Chaos?"

Renna considers this. "You two are very important, but I can't see clearly how. I'll have to look more closely to -"

Renna suddenly sits bolt upright, her face a nasty shade of green. She launches out of her chair and sprints out the door and down the hall. I've got no explanation for this, and my facial expression is probably nonplussed. Terra, however, is turning her magic book over and over in her hands and refusing point-blank to look in my direction.

"Are you all right?" I ask.

"If your fate was to destroy the universe, would you be all right?" Terra counters without looking at me.

"That isn't your fate any longer," I say.

"I know," Terra says. She flips the book over in her hands again, and it falls open. I quickly avert my eyes away from the page, but Terra says, "It's all right. You can look at it."

I look. On the page is a sketch of a face, rendered with surprising detail and skill. The person is a man, with blond hair and blue eyes. His face is marred with a massive scar, cutting from the corner of his mouth all the way up to his temple, giving him a crooked smile. Aside from the scar, I suppose one could call him handsome. I've seen him before, but it takes me a second to remember where - in the archives of the Great Library of Asgard. "Is that Ari?"

Terra nods. "He was Niamh's Link," she says softly. "The one other person who knew the dragons' true names. Did you know that the Guardians executed him two weeks before she died?"

"I'd heard that," I say cautiously. It's not exactly common knowledge - everyone assumes that Ari died in battle beside Niamh.

"It's true," Terra says. "Sometimes I think that's why the Guardians reacted how they did when I screwed up that assignment. If it ever got out that they'd effectively killed Niamh, they'd be ruined. And since I knew, they needed to shut me up somehow. The thing is, I never would have told anyone. I didn't have a reason to."

"Ah," I say. Then, casting about for another subject of conversation, "Did Niamh draw that?"

"Yeah," Terra says. "It's obvious from the way she drew that scar how she feels about him. According to people who knew him personally, it was really hideous, but the way she draws it, it's beautiful. If the Guardians had taken a look at that drawing before they decided to burn Ari at the stake, they would've know exactly what they were getting into."

"She loved him?" I say, catching Terra's meaning.

"You didn't know?" Terra says. "The Links are usually people we love."

"And you have no Link," I say. "Does that mean there's no one you love?"

I'm treading on dangerous ground, and I'm sure Renna would have shut me up by now if she were here. But Terra gives me an odd, measured look and says, "Did you know that Adrian was my Link for awhile? When I ran, I wiped his mind with water from my mother's river so that he wouldn't remember the names. After a disaster like that, I want to be damn sure that the person I tell isn't an asshole like him. So it's not that I don't love anyone - it's that I'm going to give them a bit of a trial period first."

I consider her answer. "All right," I say.

"All right," Terra says. She nudges me with her shoulder. "Get better fast, okay? We've got a world to save."

"I'll try," I say. Then, "But where do you go from here, Terra? Your mother has taken control of the Guardians, and I doubt she'll give you much breathing space."

"I was expecting her to do that," Terra says with a sigh. "And I'll get at least a little breathing space while she teaches the Guardians to attack me on sight. Honestly, I'm less worried about Lethe and more worried about Adrian. No matter what else is wrong with him, I never expected him to be the type to turn to Chaos."

"Without the Bifrost connecting them, the Worlds are weakening," I say. "Chaos will exploit that weakness however it can. So if you want to cause trouble for them, I suggest you -"

"Reconnect the bridge," Terra says, completing the sentence..

"Easier said than done," Renna says, entering the room. She doesn't give any explanation for her absence, but I suspect she was throwing up. Her expression is grim. "Terra, the battle calls have gone out, or they will within a few minutes. The Guardians and the Sirens will be officially at war."

"What you really mean is, I'll be at war with Lethe, Adrian, and Ashari," Terra corrects. "Or even simpler, I'll be at war with Chaos."

"Not just you, Terra," Renna corrects. "You have the entire Sisterhood of Sirens at your command. We will fight alongside you."

"Admirable of you, Renna, but I don't want you or anyone else to die for me," Terra says.

"Oh, it's not admirable at all," Renna says. "Remember, if you die, so do we all, so my interest in your survival is entirely selfish."

For some reason, after Renna says that, both she and Terra burst out laughing.

Terra looks to me, a slight, sad smile twisting her mouth. "Loki, we both know I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't hold it against you if you left, so I'll simply say this - if you want to leave now, I understand."

"It's nice to know that, in the unlikely event that I decide to leave, I would have your understanding," I say lightly, "but I won't be leaving. I will fight beside you as well."

Terra stares at me for a moment, and then she smiles for real. "So we're all in this together."

"All for one and one for all," Renna pipes up with a slightly hysterical laugh. When Terra and I both give her strange looks, she explains, "Hormones. Sorry."

A nurse comes in to check on me and the impromptu war council breaks up. Renna heads off to the obstetrics (what is obstetrics?) floor of the hospital, while Terra attacks the box of donuts with renewed vigor. And despite the fact that I almost died last night, that the woman I think I'm in love with is still clueless as to my feelings for her, that I've somehow landed myself in the middle of the first battle of the first all-out war against Chaos in years, I feel something that can only be called happiness.


	14. Able To Sing

Wow, it's been awhile. My apologies. Thanks to everyone who reviewed: I think it was Rin, HowlynMad, and Loki's Little Helper (who changed her name to Sketchbook Pianist). If I forgot anyone, feel free to send me a PM (or better yet, another review) and I will apologize profusely. Onward with the story.

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><p>Terra:<p>

Swords suck. Being mostly a knife fighter, I've always believed that, but I haven't really realized it until now, when I'm being forced to train with them. In anticipation of me eventually recovering the Soul-Reaver and laying waste to Chaos with it, all the Sirens who use swords plus Loki are determined to beat me into fighting shape. I'm not enjoying it. At all.

"Terra, for the last time," says Renna from the porch. I sidelined her as soon as a doctor confirmed her pregnancy, and she's ticked off about it. "A sword is not just a bigger knife. It's an extension of -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I say crabbily. "It's an extension of my body. You've said that at least three times a day every day since we got back from New York. Stop it."

"Is that an order?" Renna says. Little Miss Pregnant is taking whatever cheap shots she can get in revenge for being taken off active duty. It just goes to show you; everyone can be petty, even people who can see the future.

I open my mouth to make it an order - I'm not going to back down just because she's annoyed with me - when Loki says, "Whether or not you believe that a sword is an extension of your body is the least of your worries, Terra. Your stance is all wrong, and you're putting entirely too much weight on your left side."

"That's because the sword is too heavy," I complain. "Every time I take a swing, I feel like I'm going to tip over, so I compensate."

"You're overcompensating," Loki says. "And I told you to brace the blade with your left hand so that you don't lose control of the weapon."

"That's a lame move," I say. "That is an Eowyn move."

"Who?" Loki says.

"It's from Lord of the Rings," I say. "You might be interested to know that J.R.R. Tolkien ripped off a bunch of ideas from you Asgardians."

"Did he?"

"Yeah," I say. "I'll have to show you the movies sometime."

"Terra," Renna hollers from the porch, "you can make a movie date with Loki later. Need I remind you that Chaos could attack at any minute?"

"Go throw up some more, Renna," I say, out of patience for her antics. "I'm sure the toilet's been missing its new best friend."

Renna rises off her chair, but someone else puts their hands on her shoulders and pushes her back into the seat. "Easy, Renna," says Natasha "Nada" Reiner. "You don't want your blood pressure to go too high."

"I don't have to worry about that until twenty-five weeks," Renna snarls at Nada. Nada is the only person who can lecture Renna about safety during pregnancy; before the battle calls went out and disrupted everyone's lives, she was in training to be an obstetrician.

"No, I guess you don't," Nada says, "but anything could happen. Loki, Terra, I don't want you two to stay in the sun too long. The last thing we need is for the Dragon Princess and her strategist to get sun poisoning."

"What are you, my mother?" I say. I always remember to apply sunscreen - I'm so pale that I burn fast - and today I'm wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Nada's been a Siren almost since the beginning; she should know how crazy I am when it comes to protecting my skin.

"Gods, I hope not," Nada says with a completely straight face. Loki and I both laugh, and even Renna cracks a smile. "Anyway, Terra, lunch is in two hours. And don't forget to hydrate!"

"She _is_ like someone's mother," I mutter as Nada wanders back inside. "Nada the mother hen."

"Terra," Renna reminds me, "the sword lesson. We've still got two hours before lunch - that's plenty of time for Loki to beat some sword-fighting skill into you."

"I really don't want to beat her at all," Loki says, looking uncomfortable. "Can you please use a different word?"

"Just get on with it," Renna says, waving her hands. "You're giving me a headache."

Loki turns back to me. "Try the basic sword stance again."

I tighten my grip on the sword and bring it up straight. My right foot is back, and my chest is facing sideways so as to present a smaller target. I place my left palm against the flat of the sword to balance it. And lastly, I bring my good eye up to focus on my imaginary opponent - in this case, Loki is standing in the spot that an opponent would be.

Of course, he moves immediately. And he moves right into my blind spot. "Um, Loki?" I say. "I can't see you right now."

He reappears in my field of vision so fast and sudden that I almost have a heart attack. "I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I just need to correct your left side. You're raising your shoulder."

Loki taps at my shoulder, trying to get me to drop it back into its natural place. I'm fairly uncomfortable - as much as I hate it when I can't see people, I hate it even more when the only part of them I can't see is their hands - and as a result, my shoulder does not go back where it's supposed to be.

"Stop tensing, Terra," Renna says from the porch. "We're trying to help you."

I've had it with her. "No, Renna, Loki's trying to help me. You're just heckling me from a safe distance."

"Do you want to know what happens if you don't train, Terra?" Renna says. "You die. Ashari kills you on the battlefield. Just chops your head right off."

"You're making that up," I snarl. I know she's making it up because I can see the lie in her thoughts. "And it's not funny, Renna. I'm not treating this like a joke, but it would be a lot easier for me if you weren't picking on me every second of every minute of every hour of every day!"

"Wow," comments a Siren coming in from the makeshift training ground we've set up out in the desert. "You said that all in one breath, lady princess."

"All right," Renna says. "Maybe I am being a little too hard on you."

"Maybe you're being a lot too hard on me," I say, and then I let out a small yelp of shock as Loki applies more pressure to my shoulder. It drops back into place with an unusually loud click. "Dammit!"

Loki blinks and pulls his hand back. "Did that hurt?"

"No," I say. "It was just the noise."

"All right, then," Loki tells me, stepping back. "You've got the stance right."

I stand still, waiting for more direction, but none is forthcoming. The muscles in my legs and especially my arms begin twitching, and even with my left hand supporting the sword blade the weapon starts to shake. I clench my hand tighter around the hilt, but then my fingers begin to spasm as well and the sword swings wildly from side to side.

Loki reaches out and wraps his hands over mine around the hilt, steadying the sword. "Careful, Terra, or it won't be Ashari who cuts off your head."

"Oh, that would be just perfect," I say. "After everything else I've been through, I inadvertently decapitate myself."

"That would be unfortunate," Loki agrees soberly. I stare at him suspiciously, wondering if he's being serious. Then I see the glint of humor in his green eyes, and I laugh.

Of course, I ruin everything by figuring out that Loki is essentially holding my hands and freaking out. I hate myself for behaving like a fifth-grader, acting like members of the opposite sex carry some sort of contagious disease. _Stop it_, I tell myself. _You've held his hand before - just last week, at the movie festival, and before that you shook his hand and stood there in your bra while he wrapped bandages around a bleeding wound on your back. What reason do you have to act so stupid?_

_Because you're you_, Renna says. _And because you like him. Pick either one - or both, if you'd prefer_.

I don't respond, choosing instead to try and prevent my feelings from sneaking out across the mental link and alerting all the Sirens to my emotions. I don't know what it is…but ever since we returned from New York ago, the dynamic between Loki and I has somehow shifted. We're still friends - in fact, he's probably the only non-Siren who knows about my past and has even the smallest piece of my trust - but something else is going on.

_Terra's in love_, comments Nada.

Agh. It figures that Renna, who was the first to become a Siren under my command, and Nada, who went to high school with me, are the ones who can see right through whatever pretense I put in their way. To most people, I'm inscrutable - but to anyone who's known me for a significant amount of time, I'm completely transparent.

_Just relax, Terra_, suggests Renna. _You're in love. It happens to the best of us_.

_Does it ever_, Nada adds, a mischievous tone permeating her words. _In fact, I think there's a song about this very subject…_

_Don't you dare! _I say, but it's too late. Nada comes dancing out of the house singing the "I Won't Say I'm In Love" song from _Hercules_.

Loki looks at Nada as though she's lost her mind. "What is she doing?"

"Ignore it," I say, my cheeks flushing a miserable red. I look down to try and hide my coloring, which telegraphs to anyone with eyes exactly what emotion I'm experiencing at the moment. "Please."

Renna snorts with laughter on the porch. "I think we'd better take a break before Terra has a meltdown." Then an odd look comes over her face, and she gets unsteadily up from her seat. "I'm not feeling so good. I think I'm going to go inside and lie down."

Loki lets go of the sword and I immediately let it drop onto the dusty ground. Then, for want of anything better to do, I summon the fire dragon and start taking potshots at the cacti. I'm not really paying attention, and so I miss the cactus I was aiming for and almost hit what must have been a very stupid coyote and is now a very shell-shocked coyote.

"Sorry," I say, feeling a little guilty as the creature staggers away, its fur singed and smoking. "Didn't see you there."

"Only you can use that excuse," Loki says, and I jump. I had no idea he was still there.

"Stop sneaking up on me," I complain. "You know, if it was anyone else coming up on my blind side, they'd be dead."

"It's a risk I have to take. I can't always stay within your sight," Loki says. He picks up the sword from where I've dropped it, and says, "You shouldn't treat the weapon with such disrespect. If this sword was the Soul-Reaver, would you have dumped it on the ground so unceremoniously?"

"Yes," I say. "One sword is the same as another to me."

"Ah," Loki says. The coyote wanders around the desert, its eyes rolling wildly, and collides with the cactus I was aiming for. Loki and I both wince, and I send out a general order to the Sirens to get ahold of that coyote and make sure it hasn't been permanently damaged. A minute passes, and then Nada comes out of the house with a kitchen towel. She dumps the towel over the coyote's head, picks it up, and walks back inside, pausing only to glare at me.

"I've been thinking, Terra," Loki says.

"What about?"

"I don't think we can use the Soul-Reaver as the anchor for the Bifrost," Loki says.

"What?" I explode. "Loki, that's the centerpiece of our whole strategy! Why didn't you mention it sooner?"

Our survival in the coming fight with Chaos - aka the Guardians, aided by Ashari and Lethe - depends on us reconnecting the Bifrost to at least one other world. We're hoping for Asgard or Vanaheim, but if we get Jotunheim or Muspell by accident, we're screwed. While our ragtag alliance may survive the first attack, we've got no chance of making it through the second without outside aid. And to get that help, we have to fix the Bifrost, and to fix the Bifrost, we need a powerful anchor. Which is the Soul-Reaver.

"I wasn't sure," Loki says, "but now I am. Terra, the Dragon Princesses of old had a capture policy, didn't they?"

"Yeah," I say, unsure what this has to do with anything. "Capture, not kill. And this matters why?"

"Because that means that, up until Ashari stole it from Niamh's corpse, the Soul-Reaver didn't actually contain any souls," Loki says.

"Right," I say. Then, "I still don't get it."

"Ashari has been killing people left, right, and center with the Soul-Reaver for two thousand years," Loki continues patiently. "Since she's, ah -"

"Completely evil," I interject.

"Yes, that," Loki says. "Since Ashari is completely evil, as you say, it stands to reason that most of the people she killed with the Soul-Reaver were good people. And if you use that sword to anchor the Bifrost, you'll be trapping good souls forever. That's the kind of thing Chaos would do, Terra - so by definition, it's the kind of thing you can't."

I stay silent, trying to think through this unexpected piece of information, and then kicking myself for referring to it as being unexpected. Shouldn't I have known that in Ashari's hands, the Soul-Reaver is a repository for the souls of her enemies, people who fought against her and tried to protect the world from her cruelty? If I'd taken the time to think about it, wouldn't I have realized that I couldn't condemn those people to eternity trapped in the blade? Never mind that I don't know of any way to release them - I should have thought of it.

But I didn't. I didn't want to know that the deceptively simple solution - by far the easiest part of defeating Chaos on Earth, and eventually in all Nine Worlds - wouldn't work out.

"All right," I say. Shake off the disappointment and move on. That's what Niamh would have done. That's what Michael would have wanted. "So what are we going to do?"

"I have an idea," Loki says. "The Bifrost needs a power source. I was thinking, and I was wondering if that power source has to be an object or a weapon. Could it be a person? An immortal, maybe?"

"Yeah, I guess," I say, "but who would let us use them as a power source?"

"We wouldn't exactly be asking them," Loki says dryly. "I was thinking; if we need to get rid of Ashari for good, what better way to do that than to turn her into the power source for the Bifrost?"

The idea, at first blush, is so preposterous that I start laughing. "What would we do, Loki? Dig a big hole, toss her into it, and start dancing around and singing?"

Loki seems dead set on it, even though I'm making fun of him. "Terra, we have to get rid of her somehow. And she isn't just going to die."

"Ten out of ten, Loki," I say, my voice dripping sarcasm. "I really had no idea that Ashari isn't just going to keel over. Because, you know, that would just be too easy."

"Think about it," Loki says.

"I've been thinking," I snap. "I know the original plan isn't going to work, okay? Of course, the only solution we can think of isn't going to happen. What else could go wrong?"

How stupid am I? Very stupid indeed, because I should know by now that saying something like that guarantees a new problem. The new problem makes itself known shortly, as inside the house, someone screams.

I launch to my feet and run full tilt toward the house, Loki at my heels. I slam through the door and take in the scene - Renna, curled up in a ball on the floor in the kitchen, Nada kneeling beside her, and a crowd of worried Sirens gathering.

My first, irrational thought, is that Renna's gone into labor. Then I see that her hands are clenched around her head, her eyes squeezed shut, and I recognize the signs. Renna is a Watcher, not a Seer - she can look into the future any time she likes. But sometimes she'll receive visions, and the visions are just as unpleasant for her as they are for the Seers.

Nada looks up at me. "Have you ever seen this before?"

"Once," Loki and I say at the same. He's about to say something else, following up his thought, but then he stops and nods to me. I say, "She should come out of it in a minute."

I do not have fond memories of Renna's last vision. It happened shortly after she became a Siren. Once she returned to the present, she told me - in front of Adrian and everyone there, including Lethe - that one day soon, I would wind up entirely alone. And I'd have no one to blame for it but myself. I think, maybe, it was then that the idea of my treachery was planted in Adrian's head.

Forget what I just said. Adrian would have betrayed me no matter what. But don't forget that, less than six months after Renna spoke those words, I found myself on the path to the Black City and the loom of the Fates. It came true, exactly as she said it. Forgive me for being a little less than thrilled about this new vision.

Renna's eyes open, and she looks to me, although it's not the Renna I know that looks out from behind those golden eyes. It's clear that she's still trapped inside the vision. One hand rises, and beckons me closer. Against my better judgment - and the age-old instinct that says to run - I step to her side and kneel down, listening.

"The west will swallow the sun, as it has before," Renna says. Her voice has a strange timbre to it, drier and rustier than her usual melodic tones. "But it will not rise again. Endless dark will sweep this world, and engulf each of the others in their turn."

She draws in a breath, and continues, "So it has been woven, so it would be, save for the actions of those who remain free from all designs. The blood of the dragon will be spilled by a long-ago ally, and the bonds between world renewed by her hand."

This is a prophecy. My stomach clenches at the thought - that I'm hearing my fate right now. The blood of the dragon will be spilled.

"Trickster," Renna rasps, and Loki hurries to her side as well.

"Yes?"

"You stand to lose all you hold dear," Renna whispers. "When the time comes, speak as you must and do not be silent."

"Listen to me," I say, grabbing Renna's shoulders and giving them a shake. Even though I think I've just heard her predict my - _no, Terra, don't think about that _- I feel new energy rushing through me, and I have to force one crucial piece of information out of her. "When will this happen? When?"

"Lammas Night," she says, and her eyes roll back in her head.

I yank my hands away as Renna goes limp. She collapses back to the floor, and everyone looks to me, hoping I've got some explanation. I struggle to keep my face calm and controlled. The Sirens expect me to tell them what happened, assure them it's good news, let them know that we're going to survive our coming battle with Chaos. How am I supposed to do that when I just learned that on August 1st, Lammas Night, I'm going to die?

"What did she say to you?" Nada prompts me nervously.

It occurs to me that I'm the only one who knows Renna's whole prophecy. I arrange the lines in my head, into the blank verse they'll be inscribed in someday, maybe even as my epitaph.

_The west will swallow the sun as it has before_

_But the sun will not rise again. Endless dark_

_Will sweep this world, and engulf the others in their turn._

_So it has been woven, so it would be_

_Save for the actions of those who remain free from all designs._

_The blood of the dragon will be spilled by a long-ago ally_

_And the bonds between worlds renewed by her hand._

_Trickster, you stand to lose all you hold dear;_

_When the time comes, speak as you must_

_And do not be silent._

I think I understand. On August 1st, at dusk, the Guardians will attack, and we will fight back. I will rebuild the Bifrost, I will die in the attempt, and because of me, the Nine Worlds will have a chance against Chaos. I'm not even going to try and interpret what Renna said to Loki. It's too confusing, and the revelation of my fate is swallowing all rational thought.

I'm aware that the prophecy only says my blood will be spilled. It doesn't say how much of my blood. It doesn't say definitively that I'm going to die. But I've read enough prophecies to know that "spilled blood" usually means death. And if I'm going to die, I want to be at peace with it, like my brother was. I don't want to spend my last days hoping for a way out.

I force a smile. "I know the date of the battle," I say. "August 1st, at dusk. That's when they'll come for us."

"That's not a lot of time," says Miranda - who is, aside from Darcy, the youngest and most inexperienced Siren.

"We'll be ready, don't worry," I say. Then, because I rarely leave things on such a lighthearted note, I say, "But the clock is ticking, guys. Let's move."

The impromptu gathering breaks up, as the Sirens scramble to work. The first thing Nada does is go to the calendar and circle the date we've been given in blood-red ink.

Renna sits up, bringing a hand to her head. "Ah, I hate when that happens. It always gives me a killer headache." She looks at Loki and I. "So, did I say anything interesting?"

"I think so," Loki says. "I only heard part of it, though. Did she say anything else, Terra?"

Now it's decision time. To tell them, or not? For a moment, I think that maybe I should tell them - and if not both of them, at least Loki. Maybe he could help me. Maybe if somebody else knew, I wouldn't feel so scared. But I've spent so many years being secretive that the dishonest side of me springs first.

"No," I say lightly. If my brother could face his fate alone, so can I. "Nothing else."


	15. Apologize

Hello, everybody, and apologies for the lengthy absence. When in doubt, blame a toad. Thank you to Rin and HowlynMad for the reviews and feedback, thanks as always to my lovely editoress, and enjoy the story.

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><p>Loki:<p>

In the weeks since we returned from New York, the Sirens have maintained a nervous state of inaction. Now, with Renna's prophecy and the date of the first battle in the new Chaos war looming on the horizon, they've sprung into battle preparations wholeheartedly.

"Come on, let's go!" Nada hollers at a group of stragglers. "Run like all the demons of hell are after you!"

In an attempt to build endurance, Nada has been leading runs. While the runs occur in the early morning to avoid the worst of the heat, the participants must run in full armor, complete with shield and sword. This morning, we've only been out for ten minutes and already two people have fainted from overexertion.

"Nada," Terra says from my left, "it defeats the purpose if you kill them."

"You said I could run them into the ground," Nada says.

"Not literally," Terra says. She stumbles slightly, rights herself, and says, "There goes another one."

I glance behind me, and see that a Siren in the middle of the pack who's wearing her helmet backwards has tipped over. One of the others, who shut her visor by accident and hasn't been able to get it to lift again, trips over the fallen one and causes a minor pileup.

Nada sighs. "All right, everybody. Stop!"

With much clanking and groaning, as though a large armored vehicle is wheezing to a stop, the contingent of Sirens slows to a walk, and finally to a full collapse. Terra rips off her helmet and hurls it away. Her dark hair, much longer now than when I first met her, is completely soaked with sweat. "Why am I even out here?"

"To show solidarity," I offer.

"Stupid me." She pushes strands of hair out of her eyes with one gauntleted hand.

I sit down heavily in the dust, pulling off my helmet as well and setting it aside. I despise helmets because they limit my vision, and this one is awful; I can only see a narrow space right in front of me.

"At least this way, you're getting some training in," I say. Terra is by far the best fighter among the Sirens - aside perhaps from Renna - and after she drew the line at practice fights with me, she's been training very little.

Terra mutters something that sounds like, "It's not going to matter whether I train or not," and I stare at her, sure I must have heard wrong. But before I can ask her what she really said, Nada launches back to her feet.

"All right, break's over," she bellows. I'm always surprised at how much sound she can force out of her tiny frame. "Let's move! Oh, by the way, Terra, you and Loki are wanted at the forge."

"The forge?" Terra says, pausing in the act of retrieving her helmet from the spiny arms of a cactus. "Did Jazz blow something else up?"

"No," Nada says. "You two have to go get your armor fitted. Oh, and later, Darcy wants to show you the pit she dug for Ashari."

The pit is my idea for containing Ashari while the Sirens rebuild the Bifrost above her. It is not as though we can expect her to just sit still while we imprison her for eternity. Terra assigned Darcy to build the pit, suspecting - correctly, in my opinion - that Darcy was desperate to prove herself after taking only a minor role in the battle. Hopefully it went well; Terra can probably do without a disaster today.

"Armor?" Terra says. "Jazz made me armor?"

"Yeah," Nada says. She makes a shooing motion with her hand. "Go ahead…go see it."

Terra opens her mouth - perhaps to complain that building armor for her was a waste of Jazz's time because she won't wear it - but I don't give her the chance. I thank Nada for the message, grab Terra by the arm, and tow her back toward the house.

"Let go," Terra says. When I don't comply, she curls one hand into a fist and proceeds to punch me in the stomach. Since we're both wearing armor, this only results in a loud clang. Terra glares at me, as though it's all my fault, and says, "I told Jazz not to build a suit of armor for me. She should be spending time and metal on armor for someone who'll wear it."

"Terra, I don't think you should go into battle without armor," I say. We've had this argument before. "If you die, so do all the Sirens. I wouldn't treat their lives so lightly."

Terra's face turns suddenly ashen, and she looks as though she's going to be sick. This alarms me, and I run through my options should she vomit, concluding that holding her hair out of her face would be the proper response. Then, when I'm certain that the vomiting is imminent, Terra gives her head a little shake and says, "I forgot."

I wonder how it's possible to forget something like that, and why my reminding her would upset her so, but I don't ask. Instead I continue the walk to the forge in silence.

The forge is underground, because Terra thought that the smoke would attract too much attention from any nosy townsfolk, and because the resident smith, Jazz, prefers to work alone. Although I can recognize most Sirens by voice or sight at this point, Jazz spends most of her time in the forge, emerging only for meals and even then, she stays apart from the others. As a result, I don't think I've even met her face to face.

A small tunnel leads down to the forge, and at the end of it is a door. Terra raises her right hand and taps on the door. The knocking reverberates throughout the tunnel, and a rusty voice emanates from inside the forge. "What?"

"It's Terra," Terra says. "And Loki."

"And why are you here?"

"You sent for us," Terra says.

"So I did," answers the raspy voice after a pause. The door swings open, a blast of heat hits me in the face, and Jazz appears. She's tall, even taller than Terra, with spiked purple hair, a nose ring, and a salamander tattooed around her right eye. The smith looks us up and down, wrinkles her nose, and says, "What _are_ you wearing?"

My instinct is to respond with a smart retort - along the lines of "Armor. And beneath that, clothes" - but I decide against it. When neither Terra or I rise to the bait, Jazz, apparently encouraged, steps out of the forge and closer to us.

She brings up a leather-gloved left hand and raps on the chest plate of my armor, producing a hollow sort of bonging. "Gods, this is awful. Who made this crap?"

"No idea," I say, shrugging.

Jazz walks in a circle around me, making disapproving clucking noises with her tongue. "It's bad workmanship. The metal isn't tempered properly, but of course tempering doesn't matter if the metal you start out with is low-grade. Not to mention that it doesn't fit you at all. Have you ever worn a suit of armor that was made for you?"

"No," I say. Even for the royal family of Asgard, custom-made suits of armor are expensive, and I was never a great fighter. Thor only received a custom-made set because he begged incessantly until Odin caved in. I don't remember what I begged for as a child.

"Well," Jazz says, flicking my helmet with a fingernail painted lurid purple, "that's about to change. Come inside. You too, lady Princess."

The inside of the forge reminds me of the realm called Muspell - rough-hewn rock walls, fires flickering in various corners of the room, waves of hot, dry heat that rush over me. As I pass close to one of the fires, I think I can feel my eyebrows singe. Jazz ignores the heat, and she weaves through the fires, leading Terra and I to an alcove cut into the wall. It's cooler inside, and I duck inside to escape the heat.

"Watch it, Trickster," Jazz growls at me. "Scratch that suit and I'll beat you silly."

"What suit?" I say, and then turn around to find myself face-to-helmet with a suit of armor unlike any I've ever seen.

Asgardian armor is extremely heavy, favoring protection over speed or flexibility. There's good reason for this - anything less, and one blow from a Jotun could crush you into oblivion. On Earth, where there are no such foes, I imagine that lighter armor that moves more easily would be favored. But the suit before me seems to encompass the characteristics of both.

I can see how the pieces would move with every motion a fighter makes while still protecting the vital spots. But is it strong? Until Jazz answers me, I don't realize that I've spoken aloud.

"Is it strong?" she repeats in that rusty voice. "Watch, Trickster."

And she lifts a sword directly out of the fire and heaves it at the breastplate of the suit. Rather than piercing the armor shell, the blade of the sword bends and it falls harmlessly to the floor.

"No armor can be that strong and yet so light," I say. "It's impossible."

"Very few things are impossible," Jazz says, laughing, "especially when all the metals of the earth are within your reach and you can raise fires hotter than the planet's core. This armor is made of tungsten."

"Tungsten?" I repeat. It's not a metal I've ever heard of.

"Number 74 on the periodic table," Terra supplies.

"Ordinary humans use it in bulletproof vests," Jazz adds. "I've figured out how to alloy it with steel and carbon to make armor that's lightweight, but strong enough to handle the heaviest blows. This suit -" she gives the breastplate a rap with a gloved hand "- is for you, Trickster. See, I even made it green, to match your eyes."

I examine the armor closely, squinting in the wavering light, and discover that the metal is a dark shade of green. I think it's the color of my eyes, but I wouldn't know. I don't spend enough time in front of a mirror to recognize my own eye color on a suit of armor.

"Yours is over here, lady Princess," Jazz says, ushering Terra to the side and indicating a black suit etched in gold. "I made it in your colors."

She turns back to me. "Try them on, both of you - if any adjustments need to be made, I need to know now."

I rid myself of my borrowed gear and strap on the green armor. It fits perfectly, and when I move, miming strikes and blocks, it doesn't impede my movement in the slightest.

"Ah, ah, ah," Jazz says, and she drops something over my head. "Don't forget your helmet, Trickster."

The helmet is surprisingly comfortable. "Thank you," I tell Jazz.

"Don't thank me," Jazz says, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "Thank the lady Princess; she's the one who told me to make it for you."

I glance at Terra, delighted to find that the helmet doesn't hamper my peripheral vision. "Really?"

"Yeah," Terra says, shrugging. "I was thinking that, since you're a target, you need better gear."

"What?" I say. And then, "A target?"

"Oh, definitely," Jazz says. "Close advisors are always targets. Not to mention that Terra -"

"They'd go after you even if you weren't one of my advisors," Terra says loudly, cutting off whatever Jazz was about to say and bestowing an awful glare on the smith. "Even if you weren't allied with us, they'd still have gone after you just because of who your parents were."

"My parents," I repeat. "And tell me, Terra, why Chaos would be interested in my genealogy."

"It doesn't matter which side you go from," Terra says, examining the gauntlets on her new suit of armor. "Even if you count Laufey as your father, he still opposed Chaos."

"Everyone did," I say. Aside from demons and the corrupted, there's no one in all Nine Worlds who would stand with Chaos in a fight. Not even the Frost Giants. "Your point being?"

"Chaos has a hive mind; you know that," Terra says. "All the people who've been corrupted are controlled by that hive mind. It doesn't forget anything, and it certainly doesn't forgive. Both Odin and Laufey did a lot of damage to its forces during the last Chaos war. It'll hold a grudge against you because of that."

"And you think, because of what my father did, it will try to kill me over you?" I say, struggling to wrap my head around it. I can't understand how, because of a grudge, Chaos would try to destroy me when the real target in this Realm is Terra. "That's illogical."

"Chaos may be insidious and crafty, but no one ever accuses it of being logical," Terra says. "So, if I were you, I'd be careful. In all likelihood they'll aim for you before me."

On this happy note, she nods to Jazz and walks out of the forge, avoiding the fires and disappearing into the tunnel. Jazz squints through the smoke after her. "What's her deal?"

"I don't know," I say. Terra has been acting strangely ever since Renna's prophecy.

Jazz shrugs, returning her attention to a sword half-melted in one of the fires. "It's the countdown that bothers her. My lady Princess always preferred a good old-fashioned ambush to meeting her enemy out on the field."

I can understand; I was never the type to race into battle, sword drawn, banners flying, against an enemy who cannot lose. The battlefield was always Thor's arena. He believed that bravery and valor alone could win the day, whereas I knew that most of the time, the outcome of the fight was decided hours or days or maybe even weeks before the first warrior fell.

Jazz scoops the melted sword out of the fire and points it at me, droplets of hot metal dripping off the end and solidifying on the floor. "Listen, Trickster, if I hear that you're distracting her, I'll give you a beating you won't soon forget."

"I'm not distracting Terra," I say, a little defensively.

"You idiot," Jazz says. While people have referred to me by many insulting names, 'idiot' has never been one of them, so I'm taken somewhat by surprise. The smith shakes the sword at me and I duck out of the way to avoid the flying droplets of molten metal. "Following her everywhere, calling her by her first name - you're not doing her any favors! No offense, Trickster, but the last thing my lady Princess needs right now is to be worrying about you."

"What do you mean?" I say.

Jazz slams the sword back into the fire, looking furious with herself. "Forget it," she snarls.

"No," I say. This I will not forget. "What is it?"

Jazz glares at me as though she'd like nothing better than to punch me in the face, and says, "Most of the others don't know, and if you tell them, I'll shove nails down your nostrils. Darcy, Miranda, Elise, all the rest of them - they're all too young, and they don't notice it. But those of us who've been Sirens almost since the beginning know what's wrong with the lady Princess. She hides it well enough that the young ones don't notice, but Renna and Nada and I, we see. She's scared."

The words _scared_ and _Terra _don't belong in the same sentence, in my opinion. While she doesn't possess the foolish courage of Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, Terra is no coward, and she thought nothing of attacking the Guardians on their own territory. What is it about this upcoming battle that frightens her so?

"I'm busy," Jazz says. "Leave, before I crank the fires up so high that you're burned to a crisp."

I can't get away from the forge and its taciturn, grumpy occupant fast enough. The position of the desert sun in the sky states that it's about ten-thirty; I decide to head back to the house before the full heat of day hits. Inside the kitchen, a group of Sirens are crowded around a card game in progress. It takes me a moment to spot Jane ensconced at the head of the table. The Sirens have taken to the scientist, accepting her as a sort of honorary member.

"I'm going to win," says Nada. As I pass by I glance over her shoulder, seeing that, based on the cards in her hand, her claim may be indeed correct.

"Have you seen Terra anywhere?" I ask.

Most of the Sirens shake their heads, but Jane says, "Yeah, she was headed up to the roof. She said she needed to work on something and that we shouldn't bother her. All right, I'll bet five bucks. Cough up if you want to stay in!"

As the card-players are engulfed in an uproar, I head for the stairs, only to collide with Renna. The Watcher is making her slow but steady way out of the downstairs bathroom, looking ill.

"Sorry," she mumbles, leaning against the doorframe.

"Are you all right?" I ask out of common courtesy.

"Fine," Renna says, straightening up and attempting a smile. "The baby's been tap-dancing all over my innards. And I really wish I knew what I'd said when I made that prophecy."

"I told you what you said," I say. I memorized the words - after all, I was the only person mentioned by name, and the lines were cryptic enough to stick in my head. "I can tell you again if you -"

"No, I'm all right," Renna says. "I just can't shake the feeling that I said more. Are you headed up to the roof?"

I nod.

"Watch yourself," Renna warns. "Terra's jumpy these days."

"Who isn't?" I say as I climb the stairs.

I'm not sure what I'm expecting Terra to be doing alone on the roof. So it's quite illogical for me to be surprised to find the Dragon Princess dancing, the magic book in one hand and a small potted plant on the roof beside her. I've seen Terra practice the elemental forms many times - in fact, whenever she's required to stand still for any amount of time, she invariably slips into the motions of the forms - but this is a different thing entirely.

I watch her for a moment, decide that if she spots me watching, I will be the target of an outburst, then step forward and tap her shoulder to alert her to my presence. This proves to be a mistake, because at my touch, Terra startles, whips around, and hits me across the bridge of the nose with the spine of the magic book.

"Ouch," I manage, reeling backwards, my eyes watering. In hindsight, I realize that I made two mistakes, one of which was coming within striking distance of Terra when she believed herself alone. The other was walking up on her blind side.

"Oh, damn, Loki, I'm sorry," Terra says, the expression on her face one of utmost chagrin. "I didn't mean to -"

"No, you meant to, all right," I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose with one hand. "I can't blame you. I shouldn't have surprised you like that."

Terra shakes her head. "You'd think after all this time that I'd have learned not to hit you when you sneak up on me, but no. Are you all right?"

"I'll live," I say. "What are you doing up here?"

Terra gestures at the potted plant. "I'm trying to make a tree grow."

I regard the tree, which to my eyes appears to be more of a stunted shrub, with some skepticism. "That's a tree?"

"I just planted it yesterday," Terra says defensively. Then she stares at it and sighs. "Yeah, it's pathetic, isn't it? I worked on it for an hour yesterday and it only grew two inches."

"You're trying to grow a tree?" I say.

"Emphasis on trying," Terra says, sitting down on the roof and dangling her feet off the edge. "I was thinking about the Bifrost, you know, and it hit me; we're not just trying to rebuild the bridge, we're trying to grow a new World Tree."

I never thought about it that way before. "I suppose so," I say.

"The old Sirens were supposed to be able to make trees grow," Terra says moodily, glaring at the potted plant. "It's not easy. When you're trying to make plants grow, the dance matters just as much as the song, and you try singing and dancing at the same time and getting enough air into your lungs to keep it up!"

She glares at me, as though expecting me to challenge her statement. Then she continues, "And that's not the worst of it. I have to channel weeks or months or years worth of energy to get that damn plant to grow, and it's exhausting. I don't know how I'm ever going to grow a World Tree."

"The other Sirens can help you," I point out. "You don't have to save the Worlds _entirely _on your own."

"That's not what I meant," Terra snaps.

Her attitude is starting to irritate me. I am attempting to lighten the situation, and here she is, taking it the wrong way. This self-centered mentality, while not new to me (I grew up alongside Thor, for Asgard's sake) is distinctly out of character for Terra. What is going on? It's not until Terra responds that I realize I've spoken aloud.

"Oh, nothing's going on, Loki," Terra says sarcastically, "aside from, you know, the war with Chaos. Which I was under the impression you were part of."

"And why am I part of it?" I shoot back. "Because of you!"

This is true enough. Were it not for my association with Terra, it's likely that I wouldn't even be on Chaos's radar. They probably wouldn't even be aware of my existence. So, yes, it is correct to say that it is because of Terra that I find myself in this position - but it is a terrible thing to say aloud, and I discover this immediately from the look on Terra's face.

"No one asked you to fight the Titans with me, Loki," she says in a brittle voice.

"Wrong; Renna did," I say. It occurs to me that I am being the person everyone else hates. The person who damages others without a thought, the person who manipulates, who backs others into a corner. And now I am doing it to someone I love. "She all but forced me to fight alongside you."

Now _this _is a lie. Renna merely outlined the situation, and I made my own choice. I realize, with some surprise, that this is the first lie I have told in a long time, and I regret it. But it is as though something else is controlling my voice, my mouth, making me say the most terrible things I can think of.

This is the way I used to be. It's surprisingly easy to slip back into old habits.

Terra's face is pale and her mouth is drawn in tight. "Why are you doing this, Loki?"

"This?" I say. For some reason, I am incensed at her words - or, perhaps, at the implication that I am somehow better. "This is who I am, Terra. It's a pity you were too _blind _to see it in the first place!"

And there it is, the word that is enough to destroy her, exploding in the air with shocking force for only one syllable. There is silence, and only when I see the tears running down Terra's cheeks do I realize what a mistake I have made.

I attempt to remedy it, but I am too late. By the time I'm reaching for her, apologies on my lips, she is on her feet and leaping off the roof, landing lightly in the sand, tearing past shocked Sirens and out into the desert. I hit the earth, seconds behind her, and narrowly avoid being roasted by a gout of flames that explodes from the ground.

Renna tears out of the house, her face twisted into an awful mask of anger and pain. "Loki, what did you do?"

"I didn't -"

"Oh yes you did," Renna says. "Go out there. Fix it. Now."

"It's not my fault she is so high-strung -"

"Go," Renna snarls, "before she decides that you're just like Adrian and you can't be trusted. No matter what she may think, she can't survive this without you. Now!"

I run, following Terra's trail through the desert. She hasn't exactly tried to cover it up; every one of her footprints has fault lines radiating out of it. I've seen Terra angry before, but never so angry that she allowed herself to damage the world around her. That's one of the similarities between us. I rarely lose control unless someone I love completely betrays me - such as when Odin told me the truth of my parentage after all those years of lies.

It occurs to me that I've just done something similar to Terra.

After nearly ten minutes I come across a massive crater, probably twenty feet wide, with a high rim of rocks and rubble. Once I negotiate that, I look down into the pit, seeing a gray-clad form curled at the bottom of it, surrounded by four massive, shimmering dragons. Terra's body shakes with sobs, and the earth shudders in sympathy. The green dragon, unfamiliar to me, lifts its head and regards me with a malevolent emerald eye.

_I see you_.

I have a feeling that if I climb down into the pit without permission, the green dragon will eat me alive. "Terra?" I say softly.

The green dragon's lips pull back from its sharp fangs in a growl, rumbling like a volcano about to erupt.

Terra lays her hand on the dragon's neck, and the growling subsides. "What do you want, Loki?"

"To say I'm sorry," I say.

"Did Renna send you?"

"No -"

"Don't lie," Terra says quietly. She rolls onto her back and looks up at me, her eyes wide and rainy. I've never seen her cry before, and the Fates know she's had enough reason to in the months I've known her. Could a few cruel words on my part really have demoralized her so badly? No. As terrible as that thought is, Terra is of stronger mettle than that. And she's been acting strangely these past weeks, withdrawn and given to dark moods, sleeping little and speaking less. This explosion has been coming on for some time; my words were only the lit match.

"Yes, Renna sent me," I say. "But I would have come anyway."

Terra shrugs. "Pigs will fly before I believe that, Loki."

"Why?" I say angrily. "Why is it so inconceivable that I might want to apologize?"

"Because it's you, Loki," Terra answers, rolling back onto her side. Apparently she can't even stand to look at me. "And you never apologize. Not that you make that many mistakes to begin with. I'm shocked that you even consider this one of them."

I'm not sure why this isn't going well; either because I'm not used to making apologies or I'm not used to not being forgiven.

_One day, you're going to say something terrible_, Frigga used to tell me, when I would reduce Thor or Sif or some other palace playmate to tears. _And you won't be able to take it back_.

_Does it matter? _I would say. _I can always apologize_.

Frigga always shook her head. _What if they won't forgive you?_

"Terra," I begin.

No answer. She's completely ignoring me now.

"May I join you?" I ask finally. "I'll come down without your permission if I must, but I'd really rather that your green monster didn't eat me."

"Do what you want." Terra's voice floats up from the bottom of the crater. I take that as permission and carefully climb down into the pit, avoiding the green dragon's angry glare. The other dragons shuffle their leathery wings and scaly coils to make room for me and I manage to sit down opposite Terra, leaning back against the cool turquoise hulk of the water dragon.

"Nice place you have here," I comment after a few moments of awkward silence. The water dragon lets out a warning rumble; whether it's admonishing me or Terra, I can't tell. I decide to proceed apace with my apology. "Terra, I'm sorry. On the roof back there, I'm not sure what got into me."

"The truth, perhaps? I know Renna made you fight with me. I know you got dragged into this against your will. I didn't mean to cut your chain out as well; it was an accident. I'm sorry if I've ruined your life."

"Terra, if you hadn't cut my chain, I wouldn't _have _a life," I point out, a little disconcerted by the direction that this conversation is taking. "You saved me. If anything, I owe you, and you didn't deserve what I said. I'm sorry."

Terra sits up, brushing strands of hair out of her face. "It just took me by surprise, that's all. I haven't seen that side of you before."

I study her for a minute, trying to figure out a way to explain this. "Terra, that side of me…that's what most other people see all the time. I am different around you than I am around everyone else. I try to be different for you."

"Why?"

Her question is quiet, almost unassuming. She draws her knees up to her chest and brushes her unruly hair out of her face again, waiting for an answer to this weighted question.

"I'm afraid," I say softly, "that you won't like what you see."

Terra tilts her head, studying my face. "Everyone feels that way, Loki. But why are you only different for me?"

_Because I love you?_

"Because I've never become close to someone who could and would get up and walk away from me," I say, a half-truth that I hope will distract from the real one. "And you can - and did."

Terra smiles slightly. She holds one of her hands out to me, an olive branch, a peace offering. "Maybe you learned your lesson."

I take her hand. "I think I did."

Terra's grip on my hand tightens briefly; then she lets go. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never been this nervous about a battle before."

"No one's ever given you this much advance notice," I point out. It appears that Jazz's hunch is correct - the countdown to the attack is disturbing her usual calm.

"Yeah," Terra nods. "Come on, let's get back. I've got a lot of explaining to do."

She grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet, seeming almost relieved that we've left the subject of her battle nerves behind. Then she waves her free hand and sings a note. Three of the dragons vanish; the green dragon remains, and as we stand at its lowest point, the crater turns inside out, returning us to the desert.

"You can go now," Terra says to the dragon.

It dips its head, then turns its gaze to me_. I am watching, Trickster_.

I carefully look away. What its problem with me is, I'll never understand.

Terra begins to walk back toward the house, repairing fault lines and char marks as she goes, and I follow after her, wondering if perhaps the explanation for Terra's mood was a little too straightforward.


	16. All That I'm Living For

A/N: Apologies again for taking so long to update. Thanks to C.D. Meiss, Rin, gallowsCalibrator92, and Bloody-Destination for reviewing the last chapter, and a belated thank you to everyone who added this story to alerts and or/favorites.

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><p>Terra:<p>

At first glance, it might appear to be the mother of all Girl Scout campouts. Girls and women are gathered in small groups, doing each other's hair, putting makeup on one another's faces, and talking a mile a minute. Who cares if they're out in the desert, behind a wall of solid stone that certainly wasn't there yesterday? Most people wouldn't look farther than that.

But suppose you're one of those people who looks closer. Then, maybe you'd realize that the talking isn't girl talk; it's an incessant stream of nervous babble. You could notice that the makeup isn't makeup at all, but curiously elaborate face paint with odd symbols woven into the design edges. You could see that beneath the paint, every face is pale and strained. You might see the weapons tucked just far enough out of sight to be missed by the casual viewer, but still within easy reach.

It's three o'clock on August 1st. Dusk is due to fall at seven thirty-six pm. The first fight in the Chaos war, the first and probably last battle for Earth, will begin in four hours, and no one really knows what to do with themselves; so they're overdoing it with face paint.

I'm off to one side, trying to fuse the second earth and first fire forms into one sequence. I finish off the sequence with a showy foot stomp rather than the jump that's suggested, mostly because if anyone saw me jumping up and down in the desert they'd think I was throwing a massive temper tantrum. My booted foot smacks the ground, and a fissure opens up in the earth ten feet away, bubbling lava oozing out.

"Not bad," says Renna.

With an impatient wave of my hand, I close the newly formed fault line and turn to face her. "Renna, I told you to evacuate with Jane and Erik two hours ago."

"The battle doesn't start for another four hours," Renna says. "I'm going to stick around here for as long as I can. Are you sure I can't -"

"Not if you want that baby," I say, cutting her off before she can even get to the gist of her question. Renna can't go into the fight without putting her child at risk, so I've forbidden her to be part of it. "What are you going to name it?"

"I was thinking about Michael," Renna admits. "If that's all right with you. Michael Ember Sunrider."

"That's a mouthful," I say, thinking the kid will be lucky to make it through kindergarten. If there's still an Earth by the time he's old enough to go to kindergarten. "You seem really sure it's going to be a boy. What if it's a girl?"

"I think it'll be a boy," Renna says. "But if it's not, I'll cross that metaphorical bridge when I come to it. And Terra, Loki needs your help."

"Why, what did you do to him?" I say, instantly wary and worried that some of the Sirens have decided to use their pre-battle nervous energy to prank the Trickster.

"I didn't do anything to him," Renna says. "Darcy gave him some face paint and I don't think he knows what to do with it. Just thought you should know."

Then she trundles back to the main group to sit with Nada and Jazz, the old-timers. They've been Sirens the longest, and it's the three of them, if anyone, who've noticed that there's something wrong with me. Loki noticed, too, but that was because I was being stupid. I think I've managed to put him off it by acting normally, but when it comes to Loki, I'm never sure whether it's me fooling him or him fooling me.

These past weeks since Renna made her prophecy have been mental agony, mostly because I'm not sure how literally to take her predictions. There's always some element of panic when you have the date of a battle bearing down on you, but this is different. The phrase "the blood of the dragon will be spilled" can be interpreted literally, meaning that I could fulfill the prophecy by stabbing my finger with a needle and letting it bleed. Or you could believe it's a prediction of my death. Because I don't want to give myself false hope, I've chosen to believe it's the latter, and that's been seriously messing with my head. I can't stop thinking that everything I'm doing today - be it waking up, reapplying the makeup that covers my scar, laughing with my friends, allowing myself a brief moment to watch Loki - I'm doing for the last time.

_Stop it_, I tell myself. _You have the fight of your life coming up_ - and at that, I laugh a little - _and you can't afford distractions_.

Unfortunately for me and my survival prospects, another distraction presents itself immediately in the form of Loki, who's sitting at the edge of the group. He has a pot of face paint in each hand and a confused expression on his face.

"Need help?" I ask.

Loki nods. I sit down in front of him, taking the paint pots and noting that he's been given green and gold. "Do you want me to paint runes, or a design, or -?"

"As long as it's not a target on my forehead," Loki says, settling himself more comfortably on the ground, "I'm all right with anything."

That makes me laugh. "No targets, I promise."

I steady Loki's face with my left hand and dip the index finger of my right hand into the pot of green paint. Ordinarily, I'd start by outlining the eyes, but I don't think Loki would look good in what amounts to green eyeliner. So I paint a few leaves on his forehead, thinking idly about the green man faces from medieval Europe, and I sit back to admire the effect.

It suits him. The green matches his eyes, and the leaves give his fine, sharp features an otherworldly look. Looking at him, I feel a peace that's been absent from my thoughts in recent days. Darcy and most of the younger Sirens believe that when you look at someone you love, fireworks go off in your head. Not so for me; I've got enough fireworks on my own. When I see Loki, calmness I associate with being on solid ground, skating over a frozen lake, watching the dying embers of a fire, sweeps over me.

"What is it?" Loki asks. "Why are you smiling?"

I realize that an unbearably silly smile has come over my face, and I do my best to erase it. "Nothing," I say, suddenly aware of how close I am to him. I'm sure there are girls who would just lean across the space between us and kiss him - in fact, several Sirens who are bored and listening in are advising me to do just that - but I can't. For all my confidence in other areas, when it comes to romance, I'm a wallflower.

I finish painting the leaves as quickly as possible, using them to frame the upper half of his face, and then I add gold accents. Then, as a final touch, I cover my thumb in green paint and draw a thick stripe down the center of Loki's lips.

"What're you doing that for?" says Darcy, walking past. "I don't think he's in danger of becoming a berserker!"

"It's not just for berserkers," I say, wiping off my hand on the hem of my shirt. "It's so you remember what you're fighting for. I think we all need that."

Darcy rolls her eyes, complains to everyone within thinking distance about how I make everything _so_ profound, and moseys off. Loki checks his reflection in the polished metal of his helmet. "Thank you, Terra."

"No problem," I say, and stifle a huge yawn.

"You should sleep," Loki says. "I know you haven't these past nights."

I roll my eyes. "No one else has, either. We've all been up dancing around any plant we can find."

That statement sounds incredibly weird, I know. But practice makes perfect, and if we want to grow a new World Tree in anything less than a millennium, the Sirens and I need all the practice we can get.

"Yes, but after the all-night tree-growing sessions, everyone else went back inside and slept the whole day," Loki presses. "You, on the other hand, waited until you thought we were all dead to the world before going right back out to work more. Don't think I wasn't paying attention."

I suppress a snarl. Sometimes, Loki's habit of noticing every move I make really gets on my nerves.

"I see no reason why you should stay awake for the next few hours," he continues. "Lives are at stake, and the last thing your fighters need is their leader to be dead on her feet."

_Dead on her feet. Good one_, I think bleakly. "Okay. You win. I'll sleep. But be sure to wake me up an hour before the fight, so I can do my face paint, get into my armor, and give one of those morale-raising speeches to the troops."

Loki chuckles softly. "All right."

I stretch out awkwardly on the sand, fold my hands behind my head, and stare up at the cloudless sky. It's going to be a clear night - with a whole gallery of stars to witness what looks and feels like a futile last stand against Chaos. My thoughts fall into strange patterns. I wonder where Lethe is, and if she's thinking of me, and if she knows that, because of what she's doing tonight, she might lose her other child. I think about Adrian, and wonder if he even knows what he's doing anymore. Ashari crosses my mind only in passing, when I decide that no matter what happens to me, she'll be imprisoned forever as the new anchor of the Bifrost.

I think of Loki, too - he's never far out of my thoughts these days - and think that maybe it's not possible for two people, both free from the Fates' design, to live happily ever after. I wonder if there even is such a thing as happily ever after. And then someone's hand, probably Loki's, reaches into my line of vision and closes my eyes.

I wake up slowly, forgetting for a moment where I am. My head is no longer resting on the ground - it's on something else, and when my good eye focuses, I realize that my bizarre pillow happens to be Loki's leg. This in itself is a problem, but as I blink sleep from my eyes, I register that the light in the desert has become a lot weaker.

I sit bolt upright, and my head smacks into Loki's chin. "Ouch! Dammit! What time is it?"

"Seven nineteen," says Nada, hurrying over, drawn by the sound of my swearing.

I round on Loki. "You were supposed to wake me up an hour before the fight! And now I've only got -" my sleep-muddled brain takes a moment to crunch the numbers - "seventeen minutes before they're here!"

"I fell asleep, too," Loki says. "I'm sorry."

I shouldn't be angry with him. I really can't be, because if he knows that I wasn't sleeping, he probably wasn't sleeping either. But I can't help thinking that I might only have so many hours left, and I wasted a bunch of them on sleep. I mean, I didn't even have any dreams.

"Yeah, you two looked very comfortable," Nada says, smirking. I try to figure this one out, but my brain's still foggy from sleep. And I don't have the time. I have to get ready for the fight.

I kick my backpack over, sending armor spilling onto the ground, while I try to tie my hair out of my face with the one hand and rummage through the pack in search of face paint. I meant to cut my hair, but I forgot.

"Guys, get over here and help me," Nada says, snagging a brush and taking the hair tie out of my hand. "She'll never get ready in time on her own."

Suddenly, I'm surrounded by Sirens. Most of them seem to be working on getting me into my armor, and when I try to help, I only get in the way. Nada brushes my hair back and ties it into a neat braid, something that would have taken me several minutes to accomplish on my own. In a surprisingly short time, I'm dressed in my armor, my knives and a sheath to hold the Soul-Reaver - once I (to quote the Terminator) reacquire it - are strapped to my back, and I'm ready to go. Except…

"Face paint," Nada says.

Darcy hunts around in the backpack and comes up with a pot. "Come on, Terra, you only have black? That's so dreary."

"Here," Loki says. After diving out of the way when the Sirens swarmed, he's waded cautiously into the fray to hand Nada the pot of gold face paint.

"Thanks," Nada says, and, balancing both pots in her right hand, turns back to me - only to find that I've broken free of the group. I snag a water bottle and a towel, drench the towel in water, and start scrubbing at my left eye.

I don't know what brought it on, but suddenly, I find the idea of going into battle with my scar covered unbearable. Maybe it's because I'll be facing Ashari, and she was the one who gave it to me. Maybe it's because I might die; and if I die, I want to die with nothing left to hide; but either way, it's time to stop taking the easy way out.

The other Sirens watch me impassively. They all know what I'm thinking and doing - well, not precisely; I've kept the prophecy under wraps - and they all have their opinions about it. Joy thinks I should keep the scar hidden because it's unsightly (she's never been much for tact), Jazz thinks I should go for it and that Joy should shut the hell up, Nada thinks I should do whatever makes me happy, and everyone else is following one of them.

"Stop scrubbing, Terra," Darcy says finally, breaking the silence and handing me a bottle of makeup remover. "You'll give yourself a black eye."

I mutter thanks and set to work removing the last streaks of pale makeup from my face. When I'm sure it's all gone, I stand there a moment with my back to everyone, trying to compose myself.

I don't have a good track record with people seeing my scar. Before I got wise and started covering it up, people would stop and stare in the street, fingers pointing, mouths covered. The nurses in the hospital where I was recovering would whisper about me behind their hands, pity in their eyes. And Adrian, who swore he loved me, took one look at my scarred features and turned away.

I take a deep breath and turn around, scrutinizing every face for a hint of pity, shock, or revulsion. None of the Sirens wear any of those emotions - in fact, most of them have the biggest, proudest grins I've ever seen. My eyes slide right over them, seeking one face; Loki's.

It barely takes a second. I know when he's seen the scar, because his eyes widen, and an inexplicable anger ripples over his features. But he doesn't look away. He doesn't look away, and that's all I want. I don't want pity - all I want is for the person I love to look me in the eyes without flinching.

I don't know how long we stay that way, but it must be awhile, because eventually Nada clears her throat and says, "Terra, we're, um, on a bit of a tight schedule…"

"You can gaze into each other's eyes later, provided we survive this thing," Jazz adds. "Let's move."

Darcy relieves Nada of the face paint pots and goes to work on me. I can't see what she's doing, and I can only hope she hasn't gotten it into her head to paint flowers. Or kitty whiskers. In an effort to distract her from any diabolical inklings, I say, "What do you think of all this, Darcy? The battle against Chaos?"

"I think you're playing Russian Roulette with the fate of the universe," Darcy says, her face screwed up in concentration as she dabs gold paint onto my forehead. "But I'm cool with it. I mean, what else are you supposed to do? Sometimes, you've just got to take a chance and hope for the best. All right, you're done. And we have seven minutes left."

Darcy heads off to sit with Elise and Miranda. Unnatural, expectant silence descends over the group, punctuated by a few whispered conversations. I get up and sit in the shadow of the wall, knees tucked to my chest, with my helmet sitting in the dust in front of me. With the fight almost upon us, I thought I'd feel more scared, but I don't. I just feel numb.

Soft footsteps, accompanied by the quiet clanking of armor, herald Loki's arrival, and he sits down beside me. He doesn't speak for a moment, and then he says, "Are you all right?"

"Nobody's tried to kill me in a few weeks," I say, disinclined to talk. "I'm fine."

"That's not what I mean," Loki says. "Are you frightened?"

Tight-lipped, I shake my head, and he says, "There's no shame in admitting it if you are, Terra. Only fools feel no fear."

"Fine," I say. "I'm scared. Okay? Happy now?"

Loki covers my hand with his, a comforting gesture I never would have expected from him. "You'll be fine," he says. "I will stay with you the entire time. Might that help?"

I weigh the options. If I'm going to die, chances are I'll be killed by Ashari or Adrian, and if that's the case I don't want Loki anywhere near me. But if he's out on the field, there's a chance that he'll be hurt by a foot soldier, like he was last time, and I can't let that happen twice. "Yeah," I say. "I think it will. But if Ashari or Adrian shows up, clear out."

"Was it Ashari who gave you that scar?" Loki asks, an odd note in his voice.

I nod.

"I won't leave," Loki vows. His features are stone, with a strange, cold fire in his green eyes. "Should Ashari appear, I will redouble the pain she caused."

Now I recognize the unfamiliar tone in his voice - it's anger. I've never seen Loki angry in the entire time I've known him. I don't think he's the type to be furious. Moderately annoyed is the most dramatic I've seen in him. So what is it about this that's made him so angry?

_Don't you get it? _Darcy says. _It's because -_

_- she hurt you_, Elise continues. _He's so romantic_.

"Why?" I say, ignoring Darcy and Elise's immediate cries of protest.

"Because of what she did to you," Loki says. "I heard about it from Renna. Ashari hunted you down just to carve that sign into your face. I intend to pay her back in kind."

_Told you_, Elise says, with what approximates a sigh. Darcy gives her a smack.

A tide of whispers runs through the camp, and both Loki and I listen. The words are unmistakable. "One minute. One minute left."

One minute. I turn back to Loki. "The map to the Waterless Sea, that I gave you before the Titans -"

"I still have it, Terra," Loki says. "But I won't be needing it, because you are not going to die."

I manage an anemic half-smile at his words, wishing, hoping, praying that he's right. But I can't convince myself that he is, and Loki, with that oh-so-annoying perceptiveness, picks up on it. He carefully puts an arm around me, I rest my head against his shoulder, and that's how we sit as the final seconds tick down.

The earth shudders once, and everyone goes silent, waiting. A second spasm goes through the ground and tears a gash ten feet wide through the group. Several people nearly topple into it, and the Sirens scramble up to their feet, grabbing weapons and staring at the new fault line.

With the earth still shivering, Loki and I get to our feet, and, dodging the rocks now falling from the guarding wall, make our way to the group. I summon the earth dragon and shut the gash, only to have another one open up along the edge of the wall. It seems as though the earth is shaking itself to pieces, and the earth dragon is keeping up a continual hum of pain.

"What is this?" I say. My estimate puts the second tremor at a 7.9 on the Richter scale - definitely strong enough for the mortals to notice. While I wasn't naïve enough to think that our preparations for battle would go unnoticed, I was hoping that the mortals wouldn't think much of it until the fight was underway. No hope of that now, and a chance that hapless people like the S.H.I.E.L.D. organization will wander into the fray and get caught in the crossfire.

"It's Chaos," Loki says into my ear. "It's ripping holes in the fabric of the universe to allow passage through."

"This never happens when Ashari travels," I say.

"When Ashari travels, the universe is only allowing the passage of one being," Loki says. "The tremors would be negligible."

A horrible thought occurs to me. "How many people did they bring?"

I head back to the wall - the damage to which is already being repaired by Jazz - and clamber up, followed by Loki. When I reach the top, I peer through a gap in the rock spines. My breath catches at the sight. "Oh, shit."

The Guardians, clothed in Chaos red, are marching toward us. And it looks like there's almost -

"A thousand of them," Loki says, inadvertently completing my thought.

And that's not the worst of it. Along with the ranks of Guardians, I can see a group of demons, no doubt summoned by Ashari; above them, in the sky, a trio of wyverns circle; and in the back, Ashari and Adrian sit, he on a black horse, she on a red. The Guardians have apparently decided to forgo secrecy and pull out all the stops.

"Where's Mother dearest?" I mutter, squinting around to make sure I haven't missed her. I don't see her. That's odd - why would she miss this fight?

Loki looks interested. "Maybe she's deserted."

"No way," I disagree. "Ashari would shred her, and there's nothing more precious to Lethe than her own hide. Why would she leave, though? She can't think that we're going to live through this. Not with the army they've brought to crush us."

The Guardians come to a stop, twenty feet or so from the base of the wall. There's an unnatural stillness to them, their stiff postures and blank, red-eyed faces. I spot Aaron on the front line, his eyes empty, and something clenches in my chest. Poor kid. Look what they've done to him.

Unbeknownst to me, the other Sirens have been silently manning the wall, summoning their animals and preparing for battle. Jazz, my designated second in command now that Renna's out of commission, looks to me. "We attack on your order, lady Princess."

"Remember," Loki says into my ear just before I pull on my helmet, "you cannot go into battle until Ashari shows herself. Do otherwise, and you risk all our lives."

"I know." I survey the ranks of Guardians; glance to my Sirens, their faces pale and resolute beneath the face paint; and look back up into Loki's green eyes. "What do you say we make the first move?"

Loki considers it, and nods. I consider all four elements, trying to decide which one I should use to attack. I rule earth out, as the dragon is still reeling from the Chaos tremors. Air and water are not nearly destructive enough, and I wish to send a message; that despite being greatly outnumbered, those of us who stand against Chaos aren't going down without a fight.

"Fire," I decide. And I call the dragon and send a massive fireball hurling over the front lines, into the center of the Guardian army.

By the look of it, one Guardian was incinerated outright, and two others are badly burned. The Sirens cheer, glad that we've done some damage - but I'm dismayed to see that, for all the impressiveness of the fireball, it's only caused one casualty. I look up at Loki, afraid to voice the question.

"They're shielded," he says quietly. "As I understand it, the attack is absorbed by the shield and dissipated. The larger the attack, the more damage it will do. Also, according to the histories of the last war, the shield can be overloaded. But I wouldn't worry about that unless they find a way over the wall."

"Thanks," I say. Then I send the command out to the Sirens. _Attack!_

The Sirens follow my order, hammering the shielded Guardians with blasts of fire, none so impressive as the ones coming from the mouth of Jazz's salamander. The smith is in her element, hollering unintelligible curses as her creature spews flames.

The Guardians have started moving at last - but rather than adhering to any recognizable strategy, individual warriors are making suicide runs at the walls. I turn to Loki for an explanation, but he shrugs. "I've never seen this before."

I tilt my head to get a better view of the problem and notice something strange. "What's that they're dropping at the foot of the wall?"

Every Guardian who runs at the wall manages to set something down at the base of it before being incinerated. Closer inspection on my part reveals the objects to be some sort of red gemstone. The stones are irregularly shaped and seem to glow with inner fire. It's no kind of stone I've ever seen before, and I haven't studied Chaos extensively enough to know if this is one of their regular weapons. I'll have to ask another Siren. Jazz is the obvious choice, but she's working hard to disable the shield on the left flank of the Guardians, and I decide she can't be spared. Instead I turn to Laurel, stationed about ten feet away from me on my right, the second most skilled at working with earth.

"Laurel," I say. She looks toward me, and I continue, "Get ahold of one of those rocks and tell me what it is."

Laurel smiles, pleased at being asked. Ordinarily, she flies far under my radar. "Will do, lady Princess," she says.

I watch as Laurel summons one of her badgers to crawl down the wall and bring back a red stone. She turns it over in her hands, weighing it, tapping it against the wall. Then she says, "I don't know for sure, lady Princess. But I think it's some sort of -"

Loki, who's been surveying the battlefield, turns back and sees the red stone cradled in Laurel's palm. His eyes widen in horror and he yells, "Put that down! Now!"

But his warning comes too late.

For a moment I can't make sense of what happens. The plume of red fire that engulfs Laurel's body doesn't make sense to me; neither do the screams of the Sirens or Loki's shock as he pulls me away from the blast. And then I understand, playing back the last few moments and seeing the stone in Laurel's hand explode.

_Laurel_, I say into the mental link. Then louder, almost a scream. _LAUREL!_

But there's no answer, despite my foolish hope. The immediate disappearance of Laurel's badgers, the emptiness I find in the mental link when I call for her, all tell me that the first casualty on our side has fallen - and that she died because of my direct order. If I hadn't asked her to check out that damned stone…

"It was a bloodstone," Loki says to me. "A Chaos creation. Whoever creates the stone can detonate it at will."

"But why detonate it on Laurel?" I say hollowly.

"She had dark hair, pale skin, was about your height," Loki says quietly. "In all likelihood, the creator of the bloodstone believed she was you."

I bite my lip and stare down at the ground, trying hard to fight off tears. And that's when I see the bloodstones littering the ground along the foot of the wall, and figure out exactly what Chaos is planning.

"Get the stones clear of the wall!" I scream. The Sirens hurry to my command, but I know that it's already too late. As soon as the bloodstones' creator sees us moving the explosives, they'll detonate them and destroy the wall.

It happens fast. One moment, I'm standing on solid ground - and the next I'm airborne, flung aloft by a wave of searing heat and debris. Dust and smoke sting my eyes, and chunks of sharp rock slice at any exposed skin as I plummet back to earth. I hit the ground hard - too hard - and bounce a couple times, coming to rest against an armor-plated body that is too cold and far too still.

"Loki," I say. His eyes are shut, his face empty, and a trickle of blood runs down his cheek from a cut on his temple. "Loki, wake up!"

He stirs, and the awful knot of fear in my chest relaxes. "Are you all right, Terra?"

"I'm fine," I say impatiently. "And you?"

"Not quite fine," Loki says. "But alive. Which is more than can be said for them."

I look at the place he's indicating and see a pile of bodies, at least three. All of them Sirens, all of them burned beyond recognition. The only way I can discern their identities is by the absence of their voices in the mental link. Four Sirens dead already, and we've barely made a dent in the Guardians' forces.

"I can't do this," I say, staring at the charred bodies that were once my friends. "I can't."

Loki puts one hand under my chin and lifts it so that I'm looking into his eyes. I don't understand what's happening until I feel his lips brush the scarred surface around my blind left eye. "Yes," he says. "You can."

"Lady Princess!" Jazz screams from somewhere. The tone of her voice is what frightens me - I've never heard Jazz sound so panicked. "We lost the wall! They're coming through!"

The dust is clearing, and I can see figures loping effortlessly through the breach in the wall. I struggle to my feet and call out to the Sirens, "Get to your battle positions. They've made it this far; but we're going to make sure that they don't get farther."

All my plans for this fight, all my hopes have been dashed. Everything's going wrong, and there's nothing I can do. Fear starts to wrap its iron coils around my chest, crushing my lungs and making it hard to breathe.

I glance at Loki, who's drawn his knives, and my eyes catch on the golden chain around his wrist. He sees me looking and mouths two words. _No fate_.

I take a deep breath, summon my dragons, draw my knives. The fight of my life has only just begun.


End file.
